^l4>lX>l<OM^l^l^0lOl^l$: 


^^"^^^^""" 

•/ 


Presented  by 
Date  received 


EXTRACT 


FJ-II/II  u/i  Aft -prrscriliinu  Kules  for  the  Government  of  the  State  Library,  pass'd 
March  8th,  1861. 


SECTION  11.  The  Librarian  shall  cause  to  be  kept  a  register  of  all 
books  issued  and  returned;  and  all  books  taken  by  the  members  of  the 
Legislature,  or  its  officers,  shall  be  returned  at  the  close  of  the  session. 
If  any  person  injure  or  fail  to  return  any  book  taken  from  Che  Librajy, 
he  shall  forfeit  and  pay  to  the  Librarian,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Library, 
three  times  the  value  thereof;  and  before  the  Controller  shall  issue  his 
warrant  in  favor  of  any  member  or  officer  of  the  Legislature,  or  of  this 
State,  for  his  per  diem,  allowance,  or  salary,  he  shall  be  satisfied  that 
such  member  or  officer  has  returned  all  books  taken  out  of  the  Library  by 
him,  and  has  settled  all  accounts  for  injuring  such^books  or  otherwise. 

Sec.  15.  Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Library  by  the  members  of  the 
Legislature  and  its  officers  during  the  session  of  the  same,  and  at  any 
time  by  the  Governor  and  the  officers  of  the  Executive  Department  of 
this  State  who  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  at  the  seat  of  government, 
the  Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the  Attorney-General  and  the  Trustees 
of  the  Library. 


LIFTING   THE   CHII.n    IX    HIS    AKMS" 


MARJORIE'S   QUEST. 


BY 


JEANIE  T.  GOULD, 

AUTHOR  OF    "  A  CHAPLET  OF   LEAVES.' 


*'  One  loving  houre 
For  many  yeares  of  sorrow  can  di 

SPEKSES. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  AUGUSTUS  HOPP1N. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND   COMPANY. 

LATE  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &  Co. 

1873. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1872,  by 

JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BT 

H.  0.  IIOUGIITOX  AND  COMPANY. 


To 

MY  MOTHER, 


BUT  FOR  WHOSE  KINDLY  INTEREST  AND  ENCOURAGEMENT  THIS  STORY  WOULD 
NEVER  HAVE  BEEN  WRITTEN,  FOUNDED  AS  IT  IS  UPON  AN  ACT  OF  UNOB- 
TRUSIVE   BENEVOLENCE    IN    ONE  WHOM  WE  BOTH    LOVED    AND 
HONORED,  THIS  BOOK  IS  VERY  LOVINGLY 
DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAOS 

I.  THE  WHEEL  BEGINS  TO  TURN 1 

II.  REGINALD 14 

III.  BARNEY'S  STORY 23 

IV.  SANTA  CLAUS'  VISIT 42 

V.  MARJORIE'S  RED  CROSS  KNIGHT      ...... 

VI.  A  NEW  HOME . 

VII.  MRS.  MARSTON  ASSISTS  FATE 

VIII.  HORACE . 

IX.  WHAT  BARNEY  KEPT 

X.  HORACE'S  REVENGE 114 

XI.  IN  EXTREMITY 12& 

XII.  REGIE  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND 134 

XIII.  MARJORIE  MEETS  A  GOOD  SAMARITAN  .....  150 

XIV.  WHAT  CAME  OF  Miss  CLJVE'S  WHIM 171 

XV.  Six  YEARS  AFTER.  —  PUCK  AND  POSY 183 

XVI.  TABLEAUX 196 

XVII.  THE  CLOUD  BEGINS  TO  LIFT 207 

XVIII.  CAPTAIN  REX 226 

XIX.  CATO'S  GUEST 250 

XX.  THE  THREAD  WHICH  JUDGE  GRAY  HELD 274 

XXI.  How  PUCK  KEPT  HIS  PROMISE        ......  282 

XXII.  IN  THE  REBEL  CAMP 295 

XXIII.  AT  WINCHESTER 314 

XXIV.  FOUND .        .  325 

XXV.  THE  RED  CROSS  KNIGHT'S  REWARD       ....  342 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PACE 

I.  LIFTING  THE  CHILD  IN  HIS  ARMS 3 

II.    SHE   TURNED,  AND   SAW   MARJORIB 53 

HE.  "COME  HERE,  DOGGIE" 99 

IV.  THE  LITTLE  SLEEPER 160 

V.  SHE  SWEPT  INTO  THE  HALL 212 

VI.  "  GENTLEMAN  RODDY  ! " 267 

VII.  GENERAL  CLIVE  STOOPED  OVER  HIM 319 

VULL.  HER  EYES  PELL  UPON  BEX        .                 ...  352 


MAEJOEIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTEE  I. 

THE   WHEEL  BEGINS   TO  TURN. 

IT  was  a  bitter  cold  morning.  The  snow,  which  had  been 
falling  heavily  all  night,  lay  in  great  drifts  on  the  eaves 
of  the  houses,  and  almost  covered  the  fences,  while  the 
cutting  north  wind  brought  a  sort  of  hail  with  it  that  made 
one  shiver.  Everybody  in  the  little  village  of  Wynn 
seemed  cautious  of  venturing  forth ;  the  very  houses  looked 
sleepy  and  cold  in  the  semi-darkness  of  half-past  seven 
o'clock  on  a  December  morning.  The  low  wooden  tavern, 
with  its  yellow  doors  and  green  blinds,  seemed  to  be  the 
only  place  where  any  life  was  stirring,  and  even  that  was 
confined  to  a  small  group  of  three  people,  standing  hud- 
dled together  in  a  corner  of  the  piazza  which  was  most 
sheltered  from  the  wind  and  hail. 

"  Arrah,  but  I'm  thinking  it'll  be  late,  the  day,  whin 
the  stage  gits  here,"  said  one  of  the  three,  addressing  a 
gaunt-looking  man  who  was  endeavoring  to  scrape  the 
snow  away  from  the  door. 

"  I  canna  say,  Barney,"  replied  the  other,  cautiously, 
tugging  at  his  red  worsted  comforter  as  the  hail  whistled 
sharply  against  the  back  of  his  neck.  "  I  canna  say.  If 
Mr.  Hall  left  Clifton  at  the  usual  hour,  he'll  be  here  soon. 
Is  the  bairn  going  far  ?  " 

"  The  child,  is  it  ?  "  asked  Barney,  who,  notwithstand- 


2  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ing  his  some  years'  acquaintance  with  his  Scotch  friend, 
invariably  translated  his  peculiar  idiom  into  good,  broad 
Irish  brogue  ;  "  sure,  she 's  going  to  Saybrooke,  to  Darby 
McKeon's  brother's.  Did'nt  yees  know  that  Darby  died 
yesterday  (God  rest  his  soul !)  and  Judy,  —  wirra  !  I 
hope  yer  purty  little  hand  's  got  over  the  hit  she  give  ye 
wid  her  dirthy  slipper  ?  eh,  Margie,  darlint  ?  " 

The  third  member  of  the  group,  a  child  of  about  ten 
years,  raised  her  little  face,  and  shook  her  head  with  a  bit 
of  a  smile,  at  Barney's  question. 

"  O !  then  that 's  the  bairn  you  were  telling  me  of, 
that "  — 

"  Yis,"  said  Barney,  interrupting  him,  suddenly.  "  Ye 
see,  Sandy,  there  's  sorra  a  bit  use  in  spaking  all  that  you 
know,  and,"  lowering  his  voice,  and  pointing  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  child  with  a  jerk  of  his  big  thumb,  "  it 's 
mighty  quare  and  old  she  is  fur  her  years,  and  sure,  it 
would  only  onsettle  her,  perhaps,  if  I  tould  her  —  what 
you  know." 

"  I  ken,"  said  Sandy,  nodding  his  head  gravely,  at  this 
mysterious  remark.  "  Weel,  my  wee  lassie,  d'ye  likit  to 
gang  awa'  to  Saybrooke  ?  " 

"  Judy  beats  me,"  said  the  child,  briefly. 

Sandy  paused  in  his  task,  and  eyed  her  curiously  for  a 
second,  but  she  did  not  appear  to  notice  his  scrutiny, 
except  that  the  small,  cold  fingers  clung  to  Barney  a  little 
tighter. 

"  Aye, "  said  the  Scotchman,  "  yon 's  an  old  head  on 
young  shoulders,  as  you  say,  Barney.  But  how  came  you 
to  send  her  to  Saybrooke  and  intil  some  o'  the  same  brood 
o'  McKeon's  ?  " 

"  Whist,  Sandy ;  there  's  no  need  av  going  over  the 
matter  jist  now.  Don't  ye,  Margie ! "  seeing  a  tear  fall  from 


THE   WHEEL   BEGINS   TO   TURN.  3 

the  child's  downcast  eyelids  ;  "  sure,  I'll  be  over  wid  the 
fiddle  betune  now  and  Sunday  week,  and  we'll  have  an 
Irish  breakdown,  maybe,  all  till  our  two  selves.  Faix, 
Sandy,  there  comes  the  stage  up  the  hill  this  very  minute." 

Barney  was  right ;  that  black,  crawling  object  was 
really  the  stage,  but  it  took  some  moments  for  the  four 
horses  to  toil  through  the  unbroken  drifts  to  the  summit 
of  the  hill,  and  he  employed  the  time  in  telling  Margie  a 
funny  Irish  story  about  a  "  little  red  fox."  It  was  usually 
a  most  interesting  story,  but  on  this  occasion  it  only 
brought  a  faint  look  of  pleasure  to  her  pale  face,  and  even 
that  changed  into  very  sober  sadness  as  the  horses,  after 
a  prolonged  "  whoa,"  from  the  driver,  finally  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  tavern. 

"  Weel,  my  mon,  ye  were  early  astir  the  morn,"  said 
Sandy,  as  the  driver  grumbled  out  a  gruff  inquiry  as  to 
passengers.  "  I've  only  one  for  ye  ;  the  bit  lassie  winna 
tak  up  much  room." 

Barney  opened  the  stage  door,  and  looking  in,  saw  that 
there  were  but  three  passengers ;  two  of  them  were  gen- 
tlemen, and  the  third  an  elderly  starched-up  spinster, 
with  a  blue  veil  tied  over  her  bonnet,  her  thin  lips  and 
pointed  nose  being  much  the  same  color  as  the  veil.  She 
occupied  fully  two  thirds  of  the  back  seat,  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen sat  muffled  up  beside  her,  and  the  other  was 
making  himself  as  comfortable  as  the  snow  permitted  on 
the  middle  seat. 

"  Now,  Margie,  me  darlint,  don't  ye  forgit,"  said  Bar- 
ney, lifting  the  child  and  her  small  bundle  in  his  arms. 
"  It 's  fur  Terence  McKeon  ye're  to  ax  whin  ye  git  to  Say- 
brooke,  and  I'll  spake  to  Mister  Hall,  the  driver,  beyont, 
to  put  yees  down  near  there.  Take  care  av  yourself,  me 
jewel,  an'  mind,  I'll  be  true  to  me  word  about  Sunday 


4  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

week."  Margie's  lips  quivered  a  little,  as  she  laid  her 
small,  white  face  against  Barney's  big,  brown  one,  but 
she  only  said,  "  Good-by,  Barney,"  in  a  plaintive,  quiet 
voice,  as  she  tried  to  climb  up  the  high  steps. 

"  Take  care,  my  little  girl ;  give  me  your  bundle  first," 
said  a  clear,  kind  voice,  and  the  gentleman  upon  the  back 
seat  stretched  out  his  hand  to  assist  her.  Margie  thought 
she  must  climb  over  on  the  front  seat,  as  the  occupant  of 
the  middle  one  did  not  move,  and  was  hesitating  about 
taking  the  necessary  long  step,  but  the  gentleman  still 
kept  hold  of  her  hand,  and  evidently  meant  to  make  a 
place  for  her  by  his  side. 

"  There  must  be  room  for  such  a  small  body  here,"  said 
he,  and  as  the  cloak  in  which  he  was  muffled  fell  aside 
a  little,  Margie  caught  a  twinkle  of  the  merriest,  kindest 
hazel  eyes  she  ever  saw  in  her  life.  "  There  !  put  your 
foot  this  way  —  now  the  bundle  can  go  on  the  floor." 

"  Plenty  of  room  for  it  here,  Judge,"  said  the  other  gen- 
tleman, finally  rousing  himself  enough  to  speak ;  "  and 
room  for  that  midge  also,  if  she  likes  to  come."  But 
Margie,  after  looking  shyly  at  him  for  half  a  second,  con- 
cluded that  she  would  rather  stay  by  her  new  friend,  and 
Barney,  who  had  by  this  time  gone  plunging  through  the 
drifts  to  the  other  side  of  the  stage,  addressed  them 
through  the  window. 

"  Much  obliged  to  yer  Honor,"  said  he,  catching  the 
title  with  an  Irishman's  readiness.  "  It 's  sorry  I  am  to 
sind  her  by  herself,  but  she 's  a  purty,  old-fashioned 
young  one,  and  won't  git  asthray." 

"  Is  she  your  child  ?  "  asked  Judge  Gray,  half  doubting, 
as  he  put  the  question. 

"  Sorra  a  bit  av  a  chick  nor  a  child  have  I,  yer  Honor, 
being  jined  to  single  blessedness  becase  the  fair  creatures 


THE    WHEEL   BEGINS   TO   TURN.  5 

won't  listen  to  me,"  said  Barney,  with  a  droll  wink  of  his 
eye.  "No,  its  Darby  McKeon's  Margie — God  rist  his 
sowl,  poor  man,  he  died  last  night,  —  and  she  's  going  to 
his  brother's  at  Saybrooke,  beyont,  where  perhaps  yer 
Honor  is  going  to  hould  court  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  Judge,  laughing  at  this  insinuating 
question.  "  I  think  I've  seen  you  in  Saybrooke ;  were 
you  ever  up  before  me  ?  " 

"  Niver,  indade,"  said  Barney,  emphatically,  "  though, 
begorra,  yer  Honor  may  have  sint  some  of  me  frinds  to  the 
public  lodging  below,  at  Sing  Sing." 

"  Very  fair,"  said  the  other  gentleman,  as  the  Judge 
burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  But  the  impatient  driver 
snapped  his  whip,  and  Judge  Gray  had  barely  time  to  as- 
sure Barney  that  he  would  see  that  the  little  girl  got  safely 
to  Saybrooke,  before  the  stage  started. 

Margie  leaned  wistfully  toward  the  window,  and  waved 
her  hand  to  Barney  as  the  stage  drove  off ;  then  watched 
him,  standing  in  the  drifts,  talking  with  Sandy,  until  they 
turned  the  corner.  Very  long-drawn  was  the  low  sigh 
with  which  she  settled  herself  back  in  the  seat,  and  Judge 
Gray,  attracted  by  the  quiet  self-control  of  so  young  a 
child,  turned  and  looked  scrutinizingly  at  his  little  com- 
panion. 

What  he  saw  was  a  fair,  pale  face,  with  a  certain  square- 
ness about  the  lower  part  of  it,  a  sweet  little  mouth,  whose 
sad  lips  were  drawn  very  determinedly  together,  a  broad, 
high  forehead,  and  a  pair  of  beautiful  gray  eyes,  with  long, 
curling,  black  lashes  —  decidedly  the  handsome  feature  of 
the  face.  She  wore  an  old  calico  dress,  decently  clean, 
but  mended  in  several  places ;  a  faded  red  worsted  hood 
covered  her  head,  and  wrapped  around  her  shoulders  was 
a  white  broche  shawl,  very  fine  in  texture,  with  a  border 


6  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

of  delicate  green  and  white,  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the 
dress  and  hood.  I  have  said  that  it  was  a  bitter  cold  morn- 
ing, and  certainly  poor  Margie  was  anything  but  fitly  clad ; 
but  presently,  just  as  she  was  beginning  to  feel  some  very 
disagreeable  shivers  stealing  over  her,  Judge  Gray  unfas- 
tened the  clasp  of  his  long  cloak  and  began  to  roll  her  up 
in  it. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  too  big  to  sit  on  my  knee,"  said 
he,  merrily,  as  she  looked  up  into  his  face  with  startled 
eyes.  "  Suppose  we  try.  Why,  no,  you're  not !  I  have  a 
boy  at  home  twice  your  size,  who  contrives  to  perch  him- 
self here  very  comfortably." 

"  But  I'm  afraid  you  won't  be  comfortable, "  said 
Margie,  modestly,  but  nestling  down  very  contentedly, 
notwithstanding  her  protest. 

"What's  your  name,  my  dear?"  asked  Judge  Gray, 
secretly  surprised  at  her  purity  of  accent  and  the  absence 
of  Irish  brogue. 

"  Marjorie,"  said  she,  simply. 

"  Marjorie  !     Why,  that 's  Scotch.     Marjorie  what  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  other  name,  sir,"  said  she,  and  he  saw 
her  eyes  fill  with  tears.  Then,  after  a  pause,  "  They 
called  me  McKeon,  but  that  is  not  my  own  mother's 
name.  I  don't  know  what  that  was :  I  can't  remember. 
And  I  don't  remember  mother  very  well,  now,  either  ;  O, 
I  wish  I  could !  "  Again  that  look  of  pathetic  patience 
crossed  her  face,  giving  it  a  strange,  old  expression  which 
touched  the  kindly  heart  of  her  listener. 

"  I  think  Marjorie  is  a  very  pretty  name.  It  was  my 
grandmother's  name,  and  she  was  a  funny  old  lady  who 
wore  a  mob  cap  and  spectacles.  How  would  you  look  in 
spectacles,  Marjorie,  with  your  face  all  twisted  up — so?  " 
and  Judge  Gray  drew  his  handsome  face  into  a  mirth- 


THE   WHEEL   BEGINS   TO   TURN.  7 

provoking  contortion.  Marjorie's  first  laugh  tinkled 
merrily  out,  and  the  Judge's  eyes  sparkled  brighter  than 
ever  at  the  sound. 

It  was  not  a  very  long  journey  to  Marjorie,  although 
the  horses  went  very  slowly,  and  the  stage  got  into  sev- 
eral heavy  drifts.  Once,  it  almost  upset,  and  that  gave 
the  passengers  a  slight  fright  at  first  and  then  a  good  ex- 
cuse for  a  laugh.  Marjorie  put  her  arms  very  tightly 
around  her  good  friend's  neck  and  drew  a  long  breath 
when  the  stage  tipped  so  far  over,  but  she  did  not  scream 
or  cry,  and  the  Judge  patted  her  head  pleasantly,  and 
praised  her  for  being  a  brave  child.  And  about  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  they  reached  Saybrooke ;  three 
hours,  at  least,  behind  the  usual  time. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Marjorie,  as  they  drove  along 
the  village  streets  on  their  way  to  the  hotel,  "  will  you 
ask  the  driver  to  take  me  to  Terence  McKeon's  ?  Maybe 
he  's  forgotten,  and  I  don't  know  the  way  myself." 

"I  told  your  friend  Barney  that  I  would  take  you 
there,"  said  Judge  Gray.  "  But  I  think  we  had  better 
find  our  supper  first.  Don't  you  feel  hungry  ?  I  do. 
My  old  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Merrill,  the  landlady  of  the 
'  Saybrooke  Arms,'  will  be  sure  to  have  something  nice 
for  us.  After  supper  we'll  see,  my  dear.  Here  we  are, 
and  there  is  good  Mrs.  Merrill  in  the  window." 

Judge  Gray  jumped  briskly  down  on  the  nicely  shov- 
eled path,  and  having  politely  assisted  the  elderly  spin- 
ster out  of  the  stage,  and  her  various  bundles  as  well,  he 
carried  Marjorie  into  the  house,  and  the  other  gentleman 
passenger,  whose  name  was  Mr.  Stevens,  very  kindly 
brought  in  her  bundle  and  laid  it  down  on  a  chair.  Then 
he  said  good-by  to  the  Judge,  and  went  off  down  the 
village  street  to  a  friend's  house. 


8  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Merrill,  I've  brought  the  snow  with  me 
this  time,  and  plenty  of  it,"  said-  Judge  Gray,  shaking 
hands  with  the  pleasant-faced  landlady.  "  I  suppose  the 
lawyers  are  tired  of  waiting  for  me." 

"  We're  always  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill, 
smiling.  "  And  how  is  Miss  Rachel,  and  Master  Regi- 
nald ?  " 

"  Quite  well ;  Miss  Rachel's  head  troubles  her  as  much 
as  ever,  but  except  that  she  is  as  usual.  Regie  is  a  great 
fellow  now  ;  you'd  hardly  know  him,  Mrs.  Merrill." 

Mrs.  Merrill  had  been  a  valued  servant  in  Judge  Gray's 
family,  and  was  Reginald's  nurse  until  she  married  and 
came  to  Saybrooke.  Reginald's  mother  had  died  when  he 
was  a  very  young  child,  and  "  Nurse  Mary  "  was  an  im- 
portant personage  in  the  household  as  long  as  she  re- 
mained there,  almost  as  important  as  Miss  Rachel  her- 
self, and  she  was  the  Judge's  sister  and  had  presided  in 
his  house  ever  since  his  wife's  death. 

"  Where  is  the  little  girl  going  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Merrill, 
presently,  when  she  had  finished  her  inquiries  about  the 
family. 

"  She  came  with  me  from  Wynn,  and  I  think  she  is 
ready  for  her  supper.  At  any  rate  we  will  have  it  as  soon 
as  you  can  give  it  to  us.  And  —  stop  a  moment ;  I  would 
like  to  speak  to  you  in  the  hall." 

"  Certainly  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  stopping  outside 
the  door,  and  closing  it  behind  her. 

,  "  Do   you   know  anything   of  a  family  of  McKeons ; 
Terence,  I  think,  is  the  man's  name  ?  "  said  Judge  Gray. 

Mrs.  Merrill  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  shook 
her  head.  "  No,  sir.  That  is,  not  a  respectable  person  of 
that  name  ;  there  is  a  McKeon,  an  intemperate  Irishman, 
who  loafs  around  here,  and  sometimes  gets  a  few  cents  from 


THE   WHEEL   BEGINS   TO   TURN.  9 

John  or  me  for  doing  chores,  but  he  is  a  terribly  shiftless 
follow,  and  has  a  large  family.  They  live  in  a  wretched, 
tumble-down  shanty  in  '  Beggar's  Lane  '  —  it 's  our  very 
worst  quarter,  you  know ;  but  John  can  tell  you  more 
about  him  than  I  can. 

"  That  little  girl  is  on  her  way  to  this  man's  charge," 
said  Judge  Gray.  "  A  man  whom  she  called  Barney  put 
her  on  board  the  stage  this  morning  at  Wynn,  and,  from 
what  I  can  gather,  she  is  an  orphan,  and  is  coming  to 
live  with  this  McKeon." 

"  Um  !  "  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  making  a  cautiously  dis- 
approving sound  in  the  roof  of  her  mouth.  "  Barney  ? 
O  !  that  must  be  Barney  Brian,  a  fiddler  at  Wynn.  I 
know  him ;  he  's  as  good-hearted  a  fellow  as  ever  lived. 
He  comes  up  here  for  dances,  always,  or  the  firemen's 
ball,  and  really,  sir,  you'd  be  quite  amazed  to  hear  the 
man  play.  Would  you  like  to  see  John  ?  I'll  call  him." 

"No  matter,"  said  Judge  Gray,  interrupting  her.  "  I 
will  step  inside  the  bar  and  see  John  myself.  I  wish  you 
would  attend  to  the  child ;  and,  Nurse  Mary,"  laughing, 
and  showing  his  beautiful  white  teeth,  "  don't  stuff  her 
with  sugar-plums.  If  you  do,  she  won't  be  able  to  eat 
one  of  those  omelets  which  I  hope  you  mean  to  give  me 
for  my  supper." 

Mrs.  Merrill  smiled  pleasantly,  and  went  away  to  her 
kitchen  to  prepare  the  best  that  the  inn  contained  for  her 
dearly  loved  and  respected  master.  The  Judge  found 
John  Merrill  leaning  over  the  bar,  laughing  at  a  particu- 
larly tipsy  Irishman  who  was  trying  to  induce  him  to 
give  him  "  a  sup  o'  whiskey." 

"  How  are  you,  John?"  said  Judge  Gray,  his  white 
hand  extended  with  as  kind  and  courtly  a  gesture  as  it 
would  have  been  to  one  of  his  judicial  brethren.  "  Is 
that  the  way  you  treat  your  customers  ?  " 


10  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  John,  with  emphasis,  smiling  back 
at  the  Judge's  merry  eyes.  "  I  never  let  a  fellow  git 
mor'an  half  seas  over  at  this  'ere  bar,  I  tell  you,  sir  ;  he  's 
like  that  half  the  time.  A  pretty  poor  stick  is  Terence 
McKeon." 

Judge  Gray  looked  after  the  reeling  figure  as  it  stum- 
bled across  the  piazza,  with  graver  face  than  usual.  He 
had  found  an  answer  to  his  own  inquiries ;  surely,  it  would 
be  cruel  to  give  an  innocent-eyed,  frail  child  into  such 
guardianship  as  that  would  prove  to  be.  So  he  con- 
tented himself  with  asking  a  few  questions  on  general 
topics,  and  then  he  went  back  to  the  sitting-room  to  find 
little  Marjorie. 

The  room  looked  very  bright  and  cozy.  It  was  evident 
that  Nurse  Mary's  own  neat  fingers  had  laid  the  clean 
cloth,  and  set  the  dishes  on  the  table  with  such  precision. 
The  blazing  wood  fire  and  nicely  polished,  old-fashioned 
andirons  seemed  absolute  luxuries  when  you  remembered 
the  storm  outside,  and  Marjorie  sat  on  a  cricket  at  the 
side  of  the  fire-place,  with  a  placid,  contented  face,  watch- 
ing Mrs.  Merrill's  portly  figure  as  she  set  the  table. 

They  had  a  very  merry  meal.  Judge  Gray  was  deter- 
mined to  conjure  away  that  sad,  old  look  which  made 
little  Marjorie's  face  so  plaintive,  and  he  succeeded  well. 
Marjorie  never  forgot  that  supper.  First,  there  was  a 
nice,  tender  beefsteak,  with  plenty  of  gravy,  and  the 
Judge  mashed  a  roast  potato  for  her,  and  buttered  her 
hot  biscuit.  Then  she  had  a  generous  allowance  of  a 
flaky  omelet  (for  making  which  Mrs.  Merrill  was  fa- 
mous), and  a  large  tumbler  of  milk,  and,  to  crown  the 
whole,  a  baked  apple,  and  a  slice  of  cake  with  raisins  in 
it.  The  raisins  were  a  mystery  to  Marjorie,  and  she 
regarded  them  with  uncertain  eyes,  until,  seeing  that 


THE   WHEEL   BEGINS   TO   TURN.  11 

Judge  Gray  ate  his  cake  with  apparent  satisfaction,  she 
ventured  upon  a  bite,  and  instantly  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  "  them  soft  black  things  "  were  the  very  nicest  part 
of  the  whole  supper. 

By  and  by,  when  the  table  was  cleared  away,  Mrs, 
Merrill  brought  in  a  beautiful  white  cat,  and  two  kittens, 
one,  pure  white,  like  its  mother,  and  the  other  with  funny 
maltese  spots  on  its  tail  and  the  tip  of  its  nose.  Mar- 
jorie  got  them  all  in  her  arms,  and  became  so  attached  to 
the  spotted  kitten  that  when  several  gentlemen  came  in 
to  see  Judge  Gray,  she  proffered  a  timid  request  to  carry 
it  up  to  her  bed. 

"  That 's  just  as  Mrs.  Merrill  says,"  said  Judge  Gray. 
"  She  used  to  disapprove  of  cats  when  Reginald  wanted 
one  in  his  crib,  but  perhaps  she  will  let  you  take  pussy, 
for  once.  There,  run  to  bed,  my  child,  and  wake  up 
bright  in  the  morning." 

Marjorie  took  up  her  kitten  tenderly,  made  one  step 
toward  the  door,  and  then  came  slowly  back.  "  Would 
you  mind  if  I  kissed  you,  sir  ?  "  said  she,  very  softly. 

For  answer  the  little  head  was  placed  on  his  shoulder, 
and  two  warm,  fatherly  kisses  were  pressed  on  the  little 
lonely  lips  that  had  never  known  a  mother's  caress  ;  and 
although  his  friends  were  waiting,  Judge  Gray  carried 
Marjorie  in  his  arms  to  the  kitchen,  where  Mrs.  Merrill 
was  sitting. 

"  See  that  she  has  plenty  of  blankets,  Nurse  Mary," 
said  he,  as  he  went  away.  Marjorie  gazed  after  him 
with  a  strange  swelling  of  her  heart  which  she  could  not 
define. 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  as  she  took  Marjorie  up 
to  her  own  room,  where  a  cot  had  been  placed  for  her, 
and  began  to  undress  her  ;  "  some  folks  don't  do  nothing 


12  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

by  halves.  Yes,"  nodding  her  head  as  she  saw  the  sober 
gray  eyes  fixed  on  her  face,  "  there  ain't  many  men  like 
him !  " 

"  I  guess  he  is  a  real  good  man,"  said  Marjorie, 
promptly. 

"  Law,  child,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  You  landed 
on  your  feet  this  time.  There,  dear,  have  this  night-gown 
—  bless  my  soul !  is  that  all  the  clothes  you  had  on  ?  " 

Marjorie  colored  painfully  ;  then  she  gave  a  sort  of  sob, 
very  pitiful  to  hear.  "  I  haven't  any  more  !  There  's  a 
dress,  and  two  pairs  of  drawers  that  Barney  gave  me,  and 
an  old  caliker  apron  in  the  bundle  "  — 

"  There !  never  mind,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  sooth- 
ingly ;  "  we'll  see  about  keeping  you  warm,  to-morrow, 
and  in  the  mean  time,  as  good  luck  will  have  it,  I've  an 
old  flannel  wrapper  in  my  bureau  that  belonged  to  Mas- 
ter Regie  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  I  guess  it  will 
just  about  fit  you." 

The  wrapper  of  red  and  black  plaid  was  found,  and 
Marjorie  was  so  busy  admiring  its  pretty  colors  that  she 
partly  forgot  her  mortification,  and  climbed  into  bed  with 
a  contented  face,  and  curled  down  among  the  blankets. 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  Don't  you  say 
your  prayers,  or  have  you  never  been  taught  any  ?  " 

"  Barney  teached  me  an  '  Ave,'  "  said  Marjorie,  "  but 
it  seems  to  me  I  used  to  know  a  prayer  "  —  she  hesitated, 
and  spoke  in  the  dreamy  voice  of  one  trying  to  recall  a 
shadowy  remembrance.  "  It  was  something  —  '  I  pray 
the  Lord  my  soul '  — I  don't  know  any  more." 

"  This  is  singular,"  thought  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  I  never 
knew  an  Irish  child  who  could  say  that  prayer."  Then, 
aloud,  "  I  guess  I  used  to  say  it ;  say  it  over  after  me, 
Marjorie." 


THE   WHEEL   BEGINS   TO   TURN.  13 

With  folded  hands  and  grave,  quiet  face  the  child  said 
the  old,  sweet  prayer  that  baby  lips  have  lisped  so  often 
when  they  lie  down  to  sleep  upon  a  mother's  breast,  while 
Mrs.  Merrill's  kind  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  pity  for  the 
homeless,  orphaned  wanderer. 

The  last  sight  that  Marjorie's  sleep-laden  eyes  saw 
that  night  was  the  flickering  candle  throwing  its  gleam 
on  the  wall,  and  Nurse  Mary's  pleasant  face  as  she  rocked 
softly  to  and  fro  with  the  spotted  kitten  fast  asleep  ill 
her  lap. 


14  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER  II. 

BEGIN  ALD. 

"  "OEGINALD,"  said  Miss  Rachel  Gray,  stopping  in 
-A  ^  her  noiseless  promenade  up  and  down  the  room, 
"  I  wish  you  would  leave  the  piano  and  sit  down  quietly 
for  a  few  moments.  Your  father  must  get  here  very 
soon." 

The  coal-fire  burned  cheerfully  in  the  grate  ;  and  the 
mantel  glass  reflected  a  handsomely  furnished  room  with 
a  tea-table  spread  in  the  centre  of  it,  and  the  fine,  snowy 
damask,  and  beautifully  polished  silver,  betrayed  Miss 
Rachel's  model  housekeeping.  No  table  that  she  ever 
had  supervision  of  was  aught  but  immaculate  in  all  its 
details,  —  immaculate,  but  scrupulously,  aye,  even  pain- 
fully exact. 

A  chord  or  two  came  from  the  piano  in  a  rapid  cres- 
cendo that  strongly  resembled  a  bang,  and  presently  a 
quick,  impatient  step  crossed  the  hall,  and  Reginald  Gray 
marched  in,  his  head  thrown  high  in  the  air  in  the  way 
that  was  usual  for  that  head  to  be  when  his  aunt  was 
especially  irritating. 

He  had  his  father's  handsome  features  and  complexion, 
with  the  clearly-cut,  sensitive  mouth,  and  lovely  dark 
blue  eyes  of  his  mother's  portrait,  then  hanging  opposite 
the  mantel.  A  tall,  manly-looking  boy,  just  sixteen,  full 
of  life  and  overflowing  with  fun,  with  the  demon  of  teas- 
ing mischief  fully  developed,  as  poor  Miss  Rachel  knew 
to  her  cost.  Only  child  though  he  was,  he  had  been 
ruled  by  a  firm,  kindly  hand,  and  ridiculous  as  some  of 


REGINALD.  15 

his  scrapes  were  he  never  hesitated  to  carry  them  in  all 
their  boyish  foolishness  to  the  father  who  laughed  at  and 
with  him,  even  while  he  reproved  or  advised. 

"  Now,  Aunt  Rachel,"  began  Master  Regie,  in  his  most 
teasing  voice,  "I  just  want  to  play  '  Old  Dan  Tucker' 
for  you,  with  variations.  Such  variations,  ma'am !  There 's 
a  waltz  movement,  and  a  break-down  movement,  and  a 
banjo  accompaniment  with  the  left  hand,  —  it's  worthy 
of  Gottschalk,  I  do  assure  you.  And  you're  so  fond  of 
music." 

"  Some  kind  of  music,"  said  Miss  Rachel,  in  her  pecul- 
iarly well-bred  voice,  always  gentle,  though  nature  had 
pitched  it  at  an  unhappily  high  key.  "  I  liked  the  hymns 
you  were  playing  last  Sunday." 

"  Yes  ?  Did  you  ever  know  that  the  classical  nursery 
rhyme  of  '  There  was  a  man  in  our  town,'  goes  beautifully 
to  '  Antioch '  ?  Our  fellows  did  it  after  Greek  to-day, 
and  little  Sims  came  out  elegantly  in  '  and  scratched,  and 
scratched,'  —  high  tenor,  you  know,  Auntie,"  and  Regie 
gave  an  ear-splitting  specimen  in  falsetto. 

"  Reginald  !  "  Miss  Rachel  looked  disapproving,  which 
was  precisely  what  the  mischievous  boy  wanted ;  then, 
recollecting  that  her  remonstrance  would  do  no  good,  his 
aunt  dismissed  the  subject. 

"  Did  you  stop  at  your  grandmother's  after  break- 
fast ?  "  asked  she. 

"  Yes,  and  the  dear  old  lady  '  tipped '  me  to  the  ex- 
tent of  five  dollars.  Won't  I  have  fun  out  of  that  money  ! 
I  don't  know  whether  to  get  the  new  edition  of  the  negro 
melodies  (bound  in  gorgeous  red  covers),  or  a  new  pair  of 
skates.  Guess  I'd  as  lief  have  the  melodies." 

Again  Miss  Rachel  took  no  notice  of  the  saucy  blue 
eyes  and  curling  red  lips,  but  resumed  her  slow  walk  up 


16  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

and  down  the  room,  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  as  was  her 
habit  when  thinking.  Regie  watched  her;  there  was 
always  something  peculiarly  exasperating  to  him  in  her 
quiet,  noiseless  footfall ;  as  he  expressed  it  once,  he  "  did 
wish  she'd  walk  up  and  down  her  quarter-deck  like  a 
man  and  brother,  —  there'd  be  some  sense  in  it,  then." 

But  whatever  were  the  reflections  of  aunt  and  nephew, 
they  were  speedily  ended  by  the  click  of  a  latch-key  in 
the  front  door,  and  Regie  tore  out  into  the  hall,  crying, 
"  Papa,  O,  papa !  I'm  precious  glad  you've  come." 

"  And  I'm  '  precious  glad  '  to  get  here,  Rex,  my  boy," 
said  Judge  Gray's  clear,  crisp  voice.  Regie  threw  his 
arms  around  his  father's  neck  and  fairly  hugged  him. 
Great  boy  as  he  was,  he  never  went  to  bed  without  "  kiss- 
ing papa,"  and  1  think  he  would  not  have  been  ashamed 
to  acknowledge  how  much  he  missed  those  good-night 
kisses  when  his  father  was  away  on  circuit. 

"  And  you,  Rachel,"  said  the  Judge,  as  his  sister  met 
him  at  the  dining-room  door  with  an  affectionate  greet- 
ing. "  How  is  your  head  ?  Better  ?  I  hope  Rex  has  not 
been  more  of  a  plague  than  usual.  Does  the  hall  mat  re- 
ceive attention  nowadays  ?  " 

Regie  laughed.  "  I  remember  it  about  once  in  three 
times,"  said  he,  frankly  ;  "  but  aunty  can  at  least  say 
that  I  leave  the  dirty  boots  in  the  hall.  I've  adopted  slip- 
pers lately ;  see,  papa,"  and  he  thrust  out  a  foot  encased 
in  a  brilliant  specimen  of  worsted  work,  "  Granny  made 
me  these." 

"  Which  was  very  good  of  granny,"  said  his  father. 
"  How  is  she  ?  " 

By  this  time  the  Judge  had  got  his  overcoat  off,  and 
Miss  Rachel  rang  for  supper,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  it, 
while  Regie  related  the  episode  of  his  early  call  upon  his 


REGINALD.  17 

grandma,  and  the  present  he  had  been  lucky  enough  to 
receive. 

"  And  your  recitations  ?  "  asked  Judge  Gray.  "  How 
does  the  Greek  progress,  Rex  ?  " 

It  was  a  noticeable  fact  that  whatever  abbreviations  of 
his  name  other  folk  gave  to  Reginald  Gray  (and  he  had  a 
school  boy's  usual  allowance),  his  father  almost  invariably 
addressed  him  as  Rex.  And  sometimes,  when  a  very 
tender  chord  was  touched,  he  would  call  his  motherless 
boy  "  old  King,"  with  a  softness  of  tone  that  invariably 
conquered  his  impetuous,  warm-hearted  son. 

"  Ten,"  said  Regie  promptly.  "  Have  not  missed  one 
since  you  went  away.  But  I  don't  like  the  catalogue  of 
the  ships,  much  !  Old  Homer  must  have  racked  his  brain 
for  'em.  My  Latin  goes  on  famously.  O,  papa,  Mr.  Ran- 
som says  he  thinks  there  is  no  doubt  of  my  entering  Yale 
without  conditions  next  summer:  isn't  that  fine?" 

His  father  smiled  at  the  animated,  handsome  face  by 
his  side.  "  That's  very  well  indeed,  my  son."  And  Regie 
was  satisfied.  When  papa  said  "  very  well,"  it  meant  full 
satisfaction,  —  the  boy  never  received  more  elaborate 
praise. 

"  I  haven't  asked  you  any  questions  yet,"  said  Regie, 
after  an  interval  of  a  few  moments,  during  which  he  took 
advantage  of  his  aunt's  conversation  to  assist  himself 
bountifully  to  marmalade.  "  Did  you  get  all  the  cases  off 
the  calendar,  papa  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  said  his  father,  laughing,  "  but  pretty 
well  down  it,  the  lawyers  thought.  Rex,"  pushing  back 
his  chair,  "  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you." 

"  Let  's  have  it,"  was  the  eager  response.  Regie's  ap- 
petite for  stories  had  not  decreased  with  his  sixteen  years. 

"  You  remember  what  a  stormy  day  we  had  when  I 


18  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

left  here,"  said  Judge  Gray.  "  I  think  I  wrote  you  that 
I  did  not  reach  Saybrooke  until  very  late.  Stevens  and 
I  found  it  a  pretty  long,  cold  journey,  and  there  were 
only  two  passengers  beside  ourselves.  One  was  a  little 
girl,  about  nine  or  ten  years  old ;  a  little  girl  very  poorly 
clad."  The  Judge's  voice  trembled  slightly.  He  never 
could  tell  a  story  of  a  suffering  child  without  real  feeling. 
"  Her  name  was  Marjorie,"  he  resumed,  after  a  brief 
pause.  "  The  old  cloak  was  very  useful  again,  Rex ;  it 
kept  her  warm  until  we  reached  the  Saybrooke  Arms. 
Nurse  Mary  gave  us  a  capital  supper,  and  took  the  little 
girl  into  her  room  to  sleep  that  night.  The  man  who 
put  her  on  board  the  stage  had  asked  me  to  take  her  to  a 
certain  Terence  McKeon,  who  lived  in  Saybrooke,  but  I 
resolved  to  inquire  of  Nurse  Mary  and  John  Merrill  who 
the  man  was  before  I  let  the  child  go.  I  found  that  this 
McKeon  was  a  drunken  loafer  with  a  large  family,  living 
in  what  they  call  '  Beggar's  Lane,'  in  a  tenement,  and  by 
getting  hold  of  the  fellow  in  one  of  his  sober  fits  I  soon 
saw  that  '  for  a  consideration  '  he  might  easily  be  induced 
to  give  up  the  little  girl.  She  is  '  no  kin  '  to  McKeon,  as 
she  expresses  it ;  her  mother  is  dead  (Marjorie's  remem- 
brance of  her  seems  vague,  and  even  contradictory),  and 
she  lived  in  Wynn  with  Darby  McKeon,  at  whose  house 
her  mother  died,  she  says.  Darby  and  Terence  were 
brothers,  and  Darby  died  a  fortnight  since,  and  Judy,  his 
wife,  would  not  keep  Marjorie  any  longer  but  sent  her  on 
to  Saybrooke  to  Terence.  The  only  decent  person  of  the 
set  seems  to  be  the  fiddler  who  brought  her  to  the  stage 
that  morning ;  his  name  is  Barney  Brian,  and  Nurse 
Mary  says  he  is  a  good-hearted,  shiftless  fellow,  who  could 
make  a  livelihood  by  his  fiddling  if  he  did  not  squander 
his  money  as  fast  as  he  earns  it.  I  saw  Barney  for  a  few 


REGINALD.  19 

moments  as  I  came  through  Wynn  to-day,  and  the  fellow 
actually  shed  tears  when  I  told  him  I  thought  of  doing 
something  for  Marjorie.  '  It 's  the  swate  little  darlint  she 
is,'  said  he,  '  and  heaven's  own  angels  be  about  yer  Hon- 
or's bed  if  yees  does  a  good  turn  for  her.'  " 

"  O,  papa,  will  you  bring  her  home  —  here  ?  "  cried 
Regie,  excitedly. 

"  My  dear  Reginald,"  began  Miss  Rachel,  deprecatingly. 

"I  want  to  consult  you  and  grandma,  Rachel,"  said 
Judge  Gray,  turning  to  her.  Miss  Rachel  was  visibly 
gratified. 

"  Do  you  think  of  bringing  her  here  ? "  asked  she. 
"  An  Irish  child,  James  ?  I  am  afraid  that  we  could 
hardly  avoid  unpleasant  complications." 

Regie's  mouth  went  down  provokingly.  Miss  Rachel 
had  a  set  of  phrases  peculiar  to  herself  which  he  knew  by 
heart.  Regard  for  his  father  alone  restrained  him  from  a 
most  disrespectful  whistle  at  the  familiar  polysyllable. 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  keep  her  in  my  home  permanently," 
said  Judge  Gray,  quietly.  "  Of  course,  she  would  remain 
here  for  a  while  until  she  grows  somewhat  accustomed  to 
the  city.  I  thought  of  asking  grandma  for  admittance  to 
the  orphan  asylum  for  her.  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
Rachel  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  feasible,"  said  Miss  Rachel  cautiously. 
"  I  do  not  know  whether  the  lady  managers  admit  the  poor 
of  another  county  in  ours." 

"  Rubbish  !  "  cried  Regie,  exploding. 

"  Who  are  you  speaking  to,  my  son  ?  "  said  Judge 
Gray. 

"But  it  is — I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Rachel — you 
know  that  granny  won't  say  no  to  a  poor  child  whom  my 
father  chose  to  befriend ;  she'd  give  her  right  hand  any 
day  to  do  papa  a  service." 


20  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Softly,  Rex.  Well,  Rachel,  I  think  I  can  arrange  it 
with  grandma."  He  rose  as  he  spoke.  "  I  will  step 
over  and  see  her  now.  Stevens  promised  to  bring  Mar- 
jorie  on,  and  I  wish  to  write  to  him  by  to-morrow's  mail 
if  possible." 

"  But,  my  dear  James,"  said  Miss  Rachel,  quite  upset 
by  this  speedy  introduction  of  an  Irish  child  into  the  well- 
regulated  household  over  which  she  presided.  "  Had  you 
not  better  allow  me  to  write  to  Mrs.  Merrill,  and  make  a 
few  more  inquiries  ?  Would  it  not  be  more  prudent  to 
wait  for  further  developments  ?  " 

Regie's  naughty  blue  eyes  twinkled,  but  Judge  Gray 
carefully  avoided  looking  at  him,  and  said  pleasantly  in 
reply,  — 

"  I'm  afraid  that  Marjorie  would  grow  tired  waiting,  and 
I  shall  have  no  good  opportunity  unless  I  accept  Stevens' 
offer.  No,  thank  you,  Rachel,  I  made  all  the  inquiries 
that  are  necessary.  Rex,  if  you  like,  you  may  go  with 
me  to  your  grandmother's." 

Regie  rushed  frantically  for  his  cap  and  clattered  down 
the  hall  behind  his  father,  regardless  of  the  sound  of  Miss 
Rachel's  calm  voice  which  reminded  him  that  he  had  left 
his  mittens  on  a  chair  in  the  dining-room. 

Mrs.  Livingston  was  sitting  knitting  in  a  corner  of  the 
sofa,  with  the  light  turned  down  a  little  in  the  back  parlor, 
when  Judge  Gray  and  Regie  walked  in  through  the  side 
door.  Grandpa  was  up-stairs  in  his  own  room  reading 
the  evening  paper,  and  so  grandma  improved  the  time 
by  finishing  off  one  of  the  blue  yarn  stockings  for  the 
orphan  children  at  the  asylum,  of  which  the  dear  old  lady 
kept  a  perpetual  stock  on  hand. 

"  Is  that  you,  Regie  ?  "  called  grandma,  in  a  cheerful, 
bright  voice.  Grandma's  voice,  like  her  loving  heart, 


REGINALD.  21 

would  never  grow  old.  "  I  thought  you'd  be  over,  for 
Betsey  made  a  fresh  batch  of  crullers  this  afternoon,  — 
why,  there  's  Mr.  Gray." 

Mrs.  Livingston  could  never  bring  her  tongue  to  call  her 
son-in-law,  Judge,  except  in  speaking  of  him ;  she  never 
called  him  James,  and  never  would,  probably. 

"  Are  you  quite  well,  mother  ?  "  asked  the  Judge,  kiss- 
ing her. 

Regie  started  for  the  pantry  in  the  back  parlor,  to 
make  acquaintance  with  the  crullers,  and  returned  pres- 
ently with  a  goodly  supply.  He  never  was  known  to  re- 
fuse cake  in  any  form ;  Aunt  Rachel's  cake-crocks  were  in 
a  state  of  perpetual  bankruptcy.  Grandma  listened  with 
great  interest  while  Judge  Gray  told  the  story  of  his  hav- 
ing found  Marjorie  in  the  stage-coach,  and  (to  Regie's 
infinite  triumph)  gave  her  opinion  that  it  would  be  an 
excellent  plan  to  send  for  the  child. 

"  There  are  two  vacancies  in  the  asylum,  or  will  be 
shortly,"  said  she.  "  I  will  go  up  to-morrow  and  consult 
Miss  Brooks."  Miss  Brooks  was  the  matron  of  the  asy- 
lum. "  Did  you  see  about  getting  clothes  for  little  Mar- 
jorie, or  shall  I  attend  to  it  ?  " 

"  I  gave  Nurse  Mary  some  money  for  purchasing  the 
material,  and  she  offered  to  have  them  made,"  said  Judge 
Gray. 

"Mary  Merrill?  O,  then  it  will  be  well  done,"  said 
grandma  contentedly.  "  What  does  Rachel  think  of  your 
plan  ?  " 

Regie  winked  wickedly  at  his  grandmother,  and  she 
shook  her  head  and  began  to  laugh  at  him.  Dear  grand- 
ma !  how  she  did  spoil  that  boy. 

"  I  don't  think  that  Rachel  will  object  Avhen  she  thinks 
it  over,"  said  Judge  Gray.  And  then  grandma  knew  it 


22  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

was  settled  that  Marjorie  should  come,  and  that  Miss 
Rachel  would  be  reasoned  into  a  resigned  acquiescence 
when  Master  Regie  was  out  of  the  way. 

After  this,  Judge  Gray  went  up-stairs  and  talked  over 
politics  with  grandpa,  which,  as  they  were  totally  opposed 
in  their  views,  was  a  difficult  matter  to  manage  amicably 
with  the  old  gentleman,  and  Regie  stayed  below,  and 
ate  crullers,  and  laid  plans  with  grandma  for  Marjorie's 
amusement,  and  told  stories  of  school  scrapes  which  made 
grandma  laugh  till  she  cried.  Grandma's  laughing  tears 
were  always  a  gratifying  tribute  to  Regie's  powers  of 
description,  so  he  escorted  his  father  home  at  a  late  hour 
in  a  contented  frame  of  mind,  and  flying  up-stairs  three 
steps  at  a  time,  delivered  a  double  knock  on  poor  Aunt 
Rachel's  door,  shouting,  — 

"  Granny  's  a  brick  !  The  little  girl 's  to  come  next 
week." 

And  then  mischievous  Regie  rushed  off  to  bed. 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  23 


CHAPTER  in. 
BARNEY'S  STORY. 

"ly/TARJORIE!" 

•iA-JL  Mrs.  Merrill's  pleasant  voice  sounded  through 
the  passage  and  up  the  stairs  into  the  little  room  where 
Marjorie  sat  playing  with  the  cat  and  both  kittens. 

"  Yes  'um,  I'm  coming,"  cried  she,  lifting  one  kitten 
down  carefully  from  the  table,  and  tucking  the  other 
under  her  arm  as  she  went  down,  the  old  cat  following 
her,  and  brushing  against  the  skirt  of  her  dress.  Mar- 
jorie's  fortnight  with  Mrs.  Merrill  had  been  of  percep- 
tible service  ;  there  was  a  tinge  of  color  in  her  pale 
cheeks,  and  the  little  face  was  losing  its  plaintive,  startled 
look.  She  turned  the  knob  of  the  kitchen  door  and  stood 
before  Mrs.  Merrill  with  a  quiet  smile  in  her  beautiful 
gray  eyes. 

Mrs.  Merrill  was  not  alone :  a  gray-haired,  nice  look- 
ing woman  sat  by  the  stove  with  her  lap  full  of  bundles. 
"  So,  that  's  the  little  girl,"  said  she,  in  a  quick,  but 
not  disagreeable  voice.  "  She  's  smaller'n  1  thought.  I 
needn  't  hev  got  more  'an  three  yards  and  a  half  of  that 
delaine." 

"  This  is  Miss  Banks,  Marjorie,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  I 
told  you  that  Judge  Gray  left  some  money  with  me  to 
buy  a  dress  and  cape  and  a  few  other  things  for  you. 
Well,  Miss  Banks  and  I  are  going  to  sit  down  and  run 
them  up  for  you,  for  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Judge  Gray, 
and  he  says  that  if  you  are  willing  to  come,  Mr.  Stevens 
will  take  you  to  the  city  on  Saturday." 

Marjorie's  color  changed  rapidly  during  this  speech. 


24  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"Going  to  see  Judge  Gray  —  to  stay?  Not  going  to 
Terence  McKeon's !  And  Barney's  not  come  yet ;  he  was 
coming  next  Sunday,  sure.  I  can't  go  off  without  seeing 
Barney,  you  know,"  finished  the  child,  in  great  distress. 

Miss  Banks  and  Mrs.  Merrill  exchanged  glances. 

"  You're  a  good,  grateful  child,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill 
warmly.  "  No  more  you  shan't  go  off  without  seeing 
Barney  Brian.  He  's  coining  to  play  for  the  '  Hook  and 
Ladder'  (they  have  a  ball  to-morrow  night),  and  he'll  be 
sure  to  be  there.  And  now,  just  look  here ;  don't  you 
think  that  's  a  nice  dress  for  a  little  girl  ?  " 

Marjorie  looked  at  the  parcel  that  Mrs.  Merrill  was 
unrolling.  It  was  a  brown  delaine  with  tiny  red  spots 
sprinkled  all  over  it,  very  pretty  and  appropriate,  and 
Marjorie  drew  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction. 

"  For  me  ?  "  said  she,  in  a  delighted  voice.  "  That  bu- 
ti-ful  dress.  And  shoes  !  And  what 's  that  for  ?  " 

"  Cotton,  to  make  two  chemises,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill. 

Marjorie  sat  down  on  the  kitchen  floor,  and  clasping 
both  arms  around  her  treasures  began  to  cry  suddenly. 

"  Bless  me  !  what  ails  the  child  ?  "  demanded  Miss 
Banks,  pulling  off  her  bonnet  and  fitting  her  thimble  on 
her  finger  with  a  business-like  face. 

"I  —  I  —  don't  just  know,"  sobbed  Marjorie.  "I  — 
never  —  had  such  a  nice  dress  before.  And  I  love  Judge 
Gray  !  "  Mrs.  Merrill  patted  her  head  kindly. 

"  There  !  dear.  He  would  n't  want  you  to  cry,  and 
this  dress  will  have  to  be  fitted.  Suppose  you  stand  up 
and  let  Miss  Banks  measure  you  for  a  body." 

Marjorie  had  no  idea  what  a  "body"  was,  but  she 
dried  her  eyes  obediently,  and  stood  up  while  the  dress- 
maker pinned  some  gray  lining  on  her  frock,  and  cut  it 
here,  and  snipped  it  there,  frightening  her  with  the  size 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  25 

of  her  scissors  and  their  close  proximity  to  her  neck. 
And  she  also  wondered,  privately,  why  Miss  Banks  al- 
ways produced  pins  from  her  mouth  ;  was  it  possible  that 
she  used  her  tongue  as  a  sort  of  pincushion  ?  Marjorie 
felt  of  her  own  tongue,  and'  resolved  to  look  in  the  glass 
when  she  went  to  bed  and  see  if  there  could  be  any  holes 
in  it  to  hold  the  pins. 

All  that  day,  and  the  next,  good  Mrs.  Merrill  and  Miss 
Banks  sat  over  their  sewing,  and  Marjorie  watched  them, 
and  finally  begged  for  something  to  do.  Miss  Banks 
laughed,  but  gave  her  a  needle  and  thread  and  a  bit  of 
delaine,  and  she  sat  contentedly  stitching  away  at  it, 
making  believe  that  she  was  sewing  on  an  apron  for 
pussy.  When  it  was  finished,  and  tied  around  pussy's 
neck,  Marjorie  was  rather  annoyed  to  find  that  she  did  not 
appreciate  it  as  an  apron  but  preferred  to  make  a  ball  of 
it  instead. 

She  was  laughing  quite  merrily  at  pussy's  antics,  and 
did  not  hear  the  outer  door  of  the  kitchen  open,  and  the 
first  thing  she  knew  a  big,  brown  hand  was  laid  on  hers 
and  Barney's  voice  said,  — 

"  Be  the  piper  that  played  before  Moses,  I  niver  heard 
ye  laugh  like  that  afore,  Margie  !  An'  how  's  me  darlint 
this  long  whiles  past  ?  " 

Marjorie  jumped  up,  kissed  him  heartily,  and  patted 
liis  rough  red  hair  in  her  odd,  old  way,  but  said  very 
little  of  the  change  in  her  future  prospects  until  Mrs. 
Merrill  went  out  of  the  kitchen,  presently,  to  give  Miss 
Banks  her  supper.  Then  the  child's  tongue  was  free  to 
run  on,  and  run  it  did,  in  a  free,  glad  way  that  delighted 
her  hearer. 

"  Och !  but  it 's  a  lucky  girl  ye  are,"  said  Barney,  when 
Marjorie  paused  for  breath.  "  I  knows  what  folks  say 


26  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

of  the  Judge,  and  ivery  man  has  a  good  word  for  him, 
even  the  poor  divils  what 's  up  afore  him.  An'  if  ye 
had  to  go,  sure,  I'm  glad  its  wid  his  Honor  ye  wint ; 
ye'll  not  forgit  your  ould  friend,  Barney,  darlint  ?  " 

"  Never ! "  Marjorie's  arms  clasped  his  neck  tighter 
than  ever. 

"  There,  acushla,  I  didn't  mane  it.  Sure,  I'll  be 
coming  to  the  city,  beyont,  some  av  these  days.  An' 
I'm  moighty  glad  (though  sorra  a  bit  would  I  say  it 
before),  I'm  moighty  plased  that  you  are  laving  Ter- 
ence, for,  savin'  yer  presence,  he  's  going  to  the  bad, 
I'm  tould,  and  it 's  no  fit  place  for  the  loikes  of  ye." 

"  I  never  wanted  to  go,"  said  Marjorie.  "  Maybe  his 
wife  would  be  like  Judy,  and  you  know  she  beat  me 
awfully." 

"  Whist !  don't  think  about  it.  Come  out  intil  the 
ball-room  an'  hear  me  make  music  for  the  b'ys.  That 
is,  if  Mrs.  Merrill  will  let  ye,"  as  the  landlady  entered. 

"  It 's  Marjorie's  bed-time,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  I 
think  she  can  hear  the  sound  of  your  music  up  in  my 
room,  Barney.  You  can  see  her  in  the  morning." 

Barney  shook  his  head.  "  I'll  have  to  be  off  to-night, 
for  Jim  Maguire  has  give  me  lift  in  his  sleigh,  and  I 
must  go  whin  he  does.  But  "  —  Barney  hesitated  in  his 
turn,  and  cleared  his  throat  with  a  vigorous  cough,  "  per- 
haps, ma'am,  ye'd  let  Margie  stay  up  a  bit  longer,  and  I 
could  talk  wid  her  ;  I'll  not  be  going  to  play  just  yit." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  for  she  remembered 
that  as  Marjorie  was  to  leave  Saybrooke  on  Saturday,  in 
all  probability  Barney  would  not  get  over  again  to  see 
her.  "  If  you  like,  you  may  take  Barney  up  into  my 
room,  Marjorie.  You'll  be  less  disturbed  there." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,"  said  Barney,  rising  with  alacrity, 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  27 

and  taking  the  child  by  the  hand.  "  Let  me  know  whin 
the  b'ys  begin  to  come  in  grate  numbers,  plase  —  I'll 
not  kape  her  purty  eyes  open  too  long." 

"  'Dade,  but  this  is  nice,"  said  Barney,  when  Marjorie 
had  showed  him  her  clean  cot  bed,  and  made  him  open 
the  closet  door  where  her  new  dress  hung,  and  tried  on 
her  new  shoes  for  him.  "  Come  up  in  me  arms,  honey ; 
wid  all  these  fine  things  I'll  be  thinking  it 's  not  Margie 
at  all,  but  some  other  little  girl.  How  would  ye  like  me 
to  tell  a  story  ?  " 

"About  the  red  fox?"  said  Margie,  climbing  up  on 
his  knee. 

"  No ;  quite  a  new  one.  Margie,"  cautiously,  "  do 
you  remember  your  mother  ?  " 

Marjorie  sat  upright,  and  opened  her  eyes  in  surprise. 

Whenever  she  had  asked  any  questions  on  that  subject, 
Barney  had  always  evaded  them. 

"  Not  very  much,"  said  she,  slowly.  "  Of  course  I 
remember  the  day  she  died,  you  know,  —  and  one  more." 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  asked  Barney. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  long  time  before  that,"  said 
Marjorie.  "  We  were  in  a  big  room,  mother  and  me, 
and  there  was  an  old  man,  with  white  hair,  and  very  big, 
black  eyes,  who  was  cross,  and  spoke  in  an  awful  voice, 
and  made  mother  cry.  I  ran  up  to  him  once,  and  he 
gave  me  a  push,  which  almost  made  me  fall,  and  —  I 
don't  remember  any  more."  She  paused  for  a  moment. 
"  There  was  a  queer,  big  bird  in  the  room,  a  gray  bird, 
up  over  the  door,  and  it  frightened  me.  I  don't  remem- 
ber any  more,  Barney,  and  sometimes  I  'm  afraid  I 
dreamed  that.  Except  about  the  big  bird ;  I  know  I 
saw  him  over  that  black  door." 

"  You  must  have  been  a  very  little  girl,  Margie,  for 


28  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ye  wasn't  more  than  four  whin  I  saw  ye  first.  And  it  'a 
only  becase  you're  going  away  that  I  mane  to  tell  you 
what  I  knows.  You  always  was  axing  was  you  any  kin 
to  Darby  McKeon;  you  ain't,  not  at  all.  But  all  the 
same,  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  rightly. 

"  It  was  one  night  airly  in  December,  five  years  ago  a 
couple  av  weeks  past,  and  it  was  storming  very  hard.  I 
had  come  over  till  Darby's  for  a  gossip  wid  him,  and  the 
night  was  so  bad  that  he  bid  me  stay  till  morning,  and 
tould  Judy  to  make  a  shake-down  for  me.  We  were  all 
sitting  forninst  the  fire  whin  we  heard  a  sudden,  sharp 
cry  loike,  —  av  a  child,  outside  the  door. 

"  '  Howly  Mary  ! '  says  Darby.     '  What 's  that ! ' 

" '  It  sounds  like  a  Banshee,'  says  Judy,  her  two  eyes 
starting  out  av  her  head. 

"  '  It 's  a  poor  unfortunate  that 's  out  in  the  snow,'  says 
I,  jumping  up,  '  an'  I'll  open  the  door  and  see  what  is  it.' 

"  And  wid  that,  I  shoves  the  door  open  wid  difficulty, 
for  there  was  a  big  drift  over  agin  it,  and  there  I  see  a 
heap  of  something,  all  black,  and  a  little  child  standing 
by  it.  That  was  you,  Margie ;  do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  No,  only  the  cold  and  the  awful  snow,  and  mother's 
falling."  The  child  shivered,  and  turned  very  pale. 
"  Why  don't  I  remember  you,  Barney  ?  " 

"  Because  ye  were  sick  and  loike  to  die  after  that. 
That 's  why  I  axed  you  did  ye  remember  anything ;  I 
thought  mayhap  you'd  remember  where  ye  was  afore 
that  night." 

"  I  can't ! "  said  Marjorie,  shaking  her  head,  mourn- 
fully. 

"  Well,  Darby  an'  me  wint  out,  and  found  that  the 
black  heap  was  a  woman,  and  we  carried  her  inside  and 
laid  her  forninst  the  fire.  We  thought  she  was  dead,  but 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  29 

after  a  long  while  we  got  a  sup  av  whiskey  betune  her 
shut  teeth,  and  by  and  by  she  opened  her  eyes  (as  swate 
eyes  as  iver  ye  see  —  black  as  a  sloe,  and  soft  as  velvet), 
but  she  was  raving  crazy,  and  talked  a  quare  dale  of 
stuff,  some  in  English,  and  more  in  a  forrin'  tongue  that 
we  didn't  understand.  It 's  a  faver  she  had,  av  the 
brain,  an'  she  niver  got  to  be  raisonable  agin."  Here 
Barney  paused.  "  That  is,  not  raisonable  to  be  worth 
spaking  of,"  thought  he.  "  Maybe  she  wasn't  quite 
herself  that  day,  nayther."  And  having  thus  quieted 
his  conscience  for  telling  a  white  lie,  he  resumed  his 
story. 

"  You  called  yerself  '  Marjorie '  quite  plain,  darlint, 
but  ye  did  not  seem  to  know  any  other  name.  And 
after  your  mother  died  ye  had  a  faver  too,  and  I  'spose 
that 's  why  its  hard  for  ye  to  remember." 

"  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  this  story  before  ? " 
asked  Marjorie,  with  an  eager,  unsatisfied  look  on  her 
little  face. 

"  Sure,  'twas  no  use." 

"  Didn't  my  mother  have  some  clothes?  "  asked  she. 

"  I  always  said  ye  had  an  ould  head,"  said  Barney, 
admiringly.  "Whisper  —  yes;  but  sure,  'twas  but  a 
few,  and  Judy  sould  'em  all  for  whiskey,  except  the 
shawl  ye  have ;  your  mother  wore  that  the  night  we 
found  her,  and  Darby  forbid  Judy  to  have  it.  But, 
Margie,  there  was  one  thing  av  your's,  which,  by  grate 
good  luck,  I  tuk  away  from  ye.  Your  dress  was  foine 
and  white,  and  yer  purty  little  arms  was  bare,  and  your 
sleeves  tied  up  wid  little  bracelets,  loike.  Anyhow, 
there  was  one  ;  I  niver  see  the  other.  Perhaps  Judy  got 
it,  or  you  lost  it  that  night  in  the  snow.  Anyway, 
here  's  the  one  I've  had  this  five  year,  dear.  And  I 


30  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

want  you  to  tie  it  around  your  neck  wid  a  bit  av  string, 
and  the  Howly  Virgin  '11  kape  you  from  ill." 

"  Because  I  wear  it  ?  "  asked  Marjorie,  shrewdly. 

"  Yes ;  don't  ye  give  it  away,  and  if  you're  afeard  of 
losing  it,  let  somebody  who  's  rale  good  and  kind  to  ye, 
kape  it  for  ye  till  you  is  grown  up  to  be  a  woman." 

After  much  fumbling,  Barney  drew  out  of  his  pocket 
a  scrap  of  paper,  which  he  unrolled,  and  a  little  baby's 
armlet  was  disclosed  to  Marjorie's  wondering  eyes.  It 
was  of  very  fine  gold,  a  string  of  small  fretted  beads,  the 
clasp  a  single  bead  of  coral,  somewhat  larger  than  the 
others. 

"  See  here,  Margie,"  said  Barney,  turning  the  little 
bracelet  over  and  showing  her  the  outside  of  the  clasp. 
"  There  's  two  letters  here  —  you  nor  me  can't  read  'em, 
but  I  got  Sandy  Ferguson  at  the  tavern  beyont  to  tell 
me  what  them  was,  thinking  they  might  be  the  letters 
'av  your  name.  And  I  said  'em  over  till  I  learned  'em 
by  heart,  —  '  M.  H:  Don't  '  M  '  stand  for  Marjorie  ?  " 

"  Does  it  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  Sandy  said  it  did,"  said  Barney. 

"  And  is  that  all  ? "  asked  the  child  in  a  sad,  disap- 
pointed voice.  "  Don't  you  know  my  real  name,  Bar- 
ney?" 

"  No,  darlint.  But  sure  you  used  to  ax  me  so  many 
questions,  and  beside,  I  thought  you'd  be  glad  to  find  ye 
was  nothing  to  the  McKeon's." 

"  So  I  am,"  said  Marjorie.  "  But  I  was  certain  sure  of 
that,  always,  you  know." 

Barney  looked  at  her  with  a  shrewd  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
"  It 's  a  rale  lady  she  is,"  thought  he,  "  and  that  's  the 
blood  showin'  itself."  And  then  he  heard  Mrs.  Merrill's 
footstep  in  the  hall,  and  she  called  him  from  the  foot  of 
the  stairs. 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  31 

"  Coming,  ma'am,"  said  he.  "  Now,  Margie,  darlint, 
you  mind  I'll  be  down  to  the  city  some  of  these  days  to 
see  yees.  And  I'll  aisy  find  where  his  Honor  lives,  and 
we'll  have  a  good  time  when  I  come." 

Then  poor  Marjorie  burst  into  tears.  She  had  tried 
hard  to  keep  from  crying,  but  Barney  was  her  oldest 
friend,  and  her  grateful  little  heart  clung  to  him,  fondly. 
And  after  a  long  hug,  and  half  a  dozen  kisses,  Barney's 
own  eyes  were  moist. 

"  There,  don't  ye ;  the  b'ys  will  be  stamping  fur  me 
in  a  shake,  Margie.  The  Howly  Virgin  be  about  ye ; 
say  one  of  yer  purty  prayers  for  Barney,  sometimes,  and 
don't  forget  to  keep  the  little  bracelet  careful !  " 

Marjorie  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  hid  her  little  face 
in  the  chair,  trying  not  to  make  a  noise,  and  Mrs.  Merrill 
found  her  thus,  and  took  her  up,  and  tried  to  comfort  her. 
But  the  child  grieved  bitterly,  and  for  two  nights  after- 
ward, cried  in  her  sleep  and  called  "  Barney  !  "  thereby 
waking  Mrs.  Merrill,  who  felt  so  much  sympathy  that  she 
could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  scold  her. 

But  as  Barney  went  off  down-stairs  after  bidding  Mar- 
jorie good-by,  his  mind  evidently  misgave  him,  for  he 
turned  about  and  drew  a  small  package  from  his  pocket. 
"  Ought  I  to  give  'em  to  her  I  wonder  ?  "  thought  he. 
"  I  promised  the  mother — but  faix,  she  's  too  young  yet : 
she  couldn't  begin  a  search  for  ever  so  many  years  ;  no, 
I'll  kape  'em.  If  I  gets  a  chance,  perhaps  I'll  give  'em 
to  the  Judge.  But  I  dunno  but  it  'ud  be  nicer  to  find 
out  her  fayther  meself  !  "  So  the  package,  whatever  it 
was,  went  back  into  Barney's  pocket,  and  the  story  of 
Marjorie's  parentage  remained  as  dark  as  before. 

Saturday  came  at  last,  and  Marjorie  (though  she  had 
by  no  means  forgotten  her  grief  at  leaving  Barney)  was 


32  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

enough  like  other  children  to  feel  greatly  excited  at  the 
prospect  of  another  journey.  And  this  time  it  was  a 
pleasurable  one,  with  Judge  Gray  at  the  end  of  it.  Mar- 
jorie  began  to  want  to  see  her  kind  friend  very  much. 
So  her  grave  little  face  had  a  pretty,  pink  flush  on  it, 
which,  together  with  her  new  dress  and  cape  and  a  neat 
little  straw  hat  with  red  ribbons  (it  was  an  old  one  of 
Mrs.  Merrill's,  cut  down  and  trimmed  over  very  ingen- 
iously, to  suit  its  juvenile  wearer),  quite  transformed  her, 

"  Bless  me !  "  said  Mr.  Stevens,  coming  into  the  sitting- 
room  before  the  stage  started.  "  Is  that  the  child,  Mrs. 
Merrill  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  to  her  ?  You've 
made  a  beauty  of  her." 

"  She  's  a  good  child,"  said  Nurse  Mary,  prudently, 
"  and  a  dear  warm-hearted  thing,  sir.  I  haven't  done  any- 
thing but  make  a  few  clothes  for  her  (Judge  Gray  was 
good  enough  to  give  me  the  money  to  buy  the  stuff),  and, 
of  course,  that  does  change  her.  There,  Marjorie,  I've 
put  up  some  ginger-snaps  and  an  apple  in  this  little  basket. 
You  may  keep  the  basket ;  I  guess  Master  Reginald  will 
remember  it,  for  he  gave  it  to  me,  long  ago.  I  lent  her  a 
bag  for  her  few  clothes,  Mr.  Stevens,  if  you'll  be  so  kind 
as  to  ask  Judge  Gray  to  let  it  come  back  by  express,  — 
any  time  will  do,  there  's  no  hurry.  Good-by,  Margie, 
good-by  ;  give  Nurse  Mary's  love  to  Master  Regie," — 
and  the  good  woman  followed  them  quite  out  to  the  door, 
and  stood  waving  her  apron  to  the  stage  as  long  as  it  was 
in  sight. 

Marjorie  wished  very  much  that  Mr.  Stevens  had  taken 
the  route  which  lay  through  Wynn,  for  she  thought  that 
perhaps  she  might  have  had  a  glimpse  of  Barney,  or  at 
any  rate  of  Sandy  Ferguson,  on  the  way;  but  this  stage 
took  the  direct  route  to  the  railroad,  and  therefore  the 
lawyer  took  it,  being  in  haste  to  get  to  town  again. 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  33 

Marjorie  had  never  been  on  a  railroad  before,  and  it 
frightened  her  terribly,  at  first,  when  the  great,  black, 
puffing  locomotive  rushed  into  the  station,  and  began  to 
blow  off  steam.  She  clinched  Mr.  Stevens'  hand  very 
tightly,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  quite  pale. 

"  Afraid,  eh  ?  "  said  he,  as  he  swung  the  little  figure 
on  the  platform  of  the  car.  "  I  forgot  that  you  had  never 
seen  a  locomotive.  I  should  not  have  stood  so  close  to  it. 
Why,  it  won't  hurt  you,  child." 

"  I've  seen  pictures  of  the  locum," —  ventured  Mar- 
jorie, timidly,  as  Mr.  Stevens  put  her  into  a  seat  and  took 
his  place  beside  her.  "  What  makes  it  spit  so  ?  "" 

Mr.  Stevens  laughed.  "  That 's  steam,"  said  he.  He 
might  as  well  have  told  her  it  was  Greek,  and  seeing 
from  her  mystified  look  that  his  remark  was  totally  un- 
intelligible, he  added :  "  It  would  take  some  time  to  ex- 
plain it,  and  you  might  not  understand  it  if  I  did,  but 
you'll  learn  all  about  it  when  you  grow  bigger.  You  need- 
n't be  afraid  of  it,  however ;  —  there,  we're  off.  See  how 
the  fences  and  houses  fly  by  !  " 

After  the  first  strange  sensation  Marjorie  enjoyed  the 
motion  of  the  cars  very  much,  and  sat  back  in  her  corner 
very  contentedly,  her  great  gray  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  the 
landscape.  By  and  by  she  began  to  entertain  herself  by 
looking  about  the  car.  It  was  well  filled,  and  the  different 
groups  amused  her.  There  was  a  young  lady  opposite, 
with  a  red  feather  in  her  bonnet,  and  a  great  many 
sparkling  rings  on  her  white  hands.  Marjorie  wondered 
if  she  ever  took  them  off,  and  whether  soap  and  water 
would  hurt  them.  A  woman  with  a  baby  attracted  her 
next.  Marjorie  liked  babies,  even  dirty  Patsey  McKeon 
was  a  playmate  for  her  ;  and  moreover  he  would  generally 
cease  howling  when  she  took  him.  This  baby  had  blue 
3 


34  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

eyes,  and  dimples,  and  was  clean  and  rosy ;  she  wondered 
if  she  might  not  give  it  one  of  her  red  apples  to  play  with. 
But  she  was  far  too  timid  to  venture  to  propose  such  a 
liberty  to  Mr.  Stevens,  so  she  contented  herself  with  smil- 
ing at  the  baby  and  wishing  that  she  dared  to  go  across 
the  aisle  and  speak  to  it.  After  the  baby,  Marjorie  was 
the  most  amused  with  a  little  girl  of  apparently  her  own 
age,  who  sat  directly  in  front  of  her.  She  had  long, 
brown  ringlets  (Marjorie's  hair  was  yellow,  and  although 
beautifully  fine  and  luxuriant,  she  fancied  it  was  very 
ugly),  and  this  little  stranger's  hair  was  tied  up  under  a 
black  velvet  hat  with  long  plumes.  Not  that  Marjorie  had 
the  least  idea  of  the  relative  merits  of  velvet  versus  straw, 
or  thought  that  the  little  girl's  hat  was  any  more  costly 
than  her  own  ;  she  only  saw  that  it  was  prettier  and 
more  graceful.  And  then  this  child  had  a  muff,  and  lit- 
tle cuffs  of  the  same  fur,  and  a  deep  blue  dress  and  cape. 
Marjorie  gave  one  of  her  long-drawn  sighs  of  satisfaction 
as  she  watched  her. 

The  time  flew  quite  rapidly  for  Marjorie,  much  more 
so  than  it  did  for  Mr.  Stevens,  who,  after  his  newspaper 
had  been  read,  composed  himself  in  a  corner  and  fell  fast 
asleep,  until  a  brakeman  sung  out  "  Binghamton  ! "  and 
added  that  the  train  stopped  five  minutes  for  refresh- 
ments. Mr.  Stevens  told  Marjorie  to  sit  still,  and  went 
out,  returning  with  a  sandwich,  a  piece  of  sponge-cake, 
and  an  orange  for  her.  Marjorie  put  the  orange  in  her 
basket,  but  ate  the  sandwich,  and  found  the  sponge-cake 
very  good.  She  had  never  eaten  any  before,  and  there- 
fore it  tasted  better  to  her  than  cake  served  at  a  railway 
restaurant  would  probably  prove  to  those  more  fortunate 
little  girls  who  have  it  frequently  upon  their  own  tea- 
tables. 


BARNF.Y'S  STORY.  35 

In  a  short  time  Binghamton  lay  far  behind  them,  and 
the  express  ran  on  at  a  speed  that  began  to  frighten 
Marjorie  again.  But  seeing  that  Mr.  Stevens  was  sleep- 
ing with  apparent  comfort  by  her  side,  she  leaned  her 
head  against  the  window  pane,  and  while  watching  the 
little  girl's  nodding  feathers  in  front  of  her,  fell  asleep 
also,  and  did  not  awake  until  Mr.  Stevens  laid  his  hand 
on  her  arm. 

"You've  been  having  a  good  long  nap,"  said  he,  as  she 
started  up,  wide  awake  immediately,  and  (for  a  moment) 
unable  to  remember  where  she  was.  "  Here  we  are,  just 
coming  into  the  depot,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  found 
Judge  Gray  waiting  for  us.  Ha  !  I  told  you  so,"  for  as 
the  car  stopped,  a  gentleman  came  in  the  door,  "Here  we 
are,  Judge,  all  safe  and  sound.  She  's  as  good  a  traveller 
as  if  she  were  fifty  years  old." 

"  Why,  Marjorie  !  "  — she  did  not  need  the  Judge's  ex- 
tended hand  to  tell  her  that  she  was  welcome  ;  the  child 
gave  a  cry  of  pure  joy  and  sprang  straight  into  his  arms, 
hugging  him  with  all  her  strength. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Mr.  Stevens,  laughing,  but  half  in 
earnest,  "  I  wish  I  had  your  talisman,  Judge.  What 's 
the  reason  that  the  children  always  love  you  ?  " 

Marjorie  could  have  told,  but  Judge  Gray  said  it  for 
her  :  "  For  the  same  reason  that  the  lamb  loved  Mary," 
said  he,  " '  'cause  Mary  loved  the  lamb,  you  know.' 
Where 's  the  bag,  Marjorie  ?  Stevens,  I'm  extremely 
obliged  to  you  for  doing  me  the  favor  to  escort  this 
child." 

"  Not  a  word,  I  beg,"  said  Mr.  Stevens,  heartily,  as 
they  got  out  of  the  train.  "  Very  happy  to  do  anything 
for  you,  my  dear  Judge.  I  suspect  we  shall  hear  more  of 
this  young  lady  some  of  these  days.  Good-by,  Marjorie," 
and  he  left  them  at  the  door  of  the  carriage. 


36  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Marjorie's  shy  tongue  was  loosened  as  soon  as  the 
carriage  door  was  shut,  and  it  ran  on  in  one  joyous  stream 
until  they  reached  their  destination.  Judge  Gray  listened 
with  a  pleasant  smile  while  she  told  him  all  about  the 
journey,  and  the  "  locum,"  and  the  baby,  and  the  little 
girl  with  long  curls,  and  lastly,  her  new  dress. 

"  This  is  it,  you  know,  sir,"  said  she,  touching  it  with 
her  hand  ;  "  it  's  bu-ti-ful !  with  red  spots.  And  my 
shoes  !  "  —  up  went  a  little  foot  on  his  knee. 

"  Quite  Miss  Goody-two-shoes,  are  you  not  ?  "  asked 
Judge  Gray.  "  What,  you  don't  know  that  story,  Mar- 
jorie  ?  You  must  ask  Rex  to  read  it  to  you.  Here  we  are," 
as  the  carriage  stopped,  "  and  there  is  my  sister  in  the 
window,  and  Rex  on  the  door-step.  Yes,  she  's  here,"  he 
added,  as  Regie  came  flying  down  bare-headed  to  meet 
them. 

"  How  are  you,  Marjorie  ?  I'll  carry  her  up  the  steps, 
papa,  they're  slippery." 

Marjorie  looked  up  at  him,  but  her  timidity  vanished 
as  the  merry  blue  eyes  laughed  back  at  her,  and  she  sub- 
mitted to  be  carried  up  the  stone  steps.  Regie  set  her 
down  inside  the  door. 

"  Why,  you're  a  little  mite  of  a  thing,"  said  he,  keep- 
ing hold  of  her  hand.  "  Aunt  Rachel,  this  is  Marjorie," 
and  he  walked  straight  into  Miss  Rachel's  serene  presence. 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  ?  "  said  she,  very  kindly. 
Miss  Rachel  was  always  kind  to  children.  She  was  pleased 
to  see  that  the  child,  if  she  was  Irish,  bore  none  of  the 
characteristics  of  that  nation  in  her  face,  and  she  looked 
approvingly  at  Nurse  Mary's  dress-making.  But  Marjorie 
kept  Regie's  fingers  in  a  tight  clasp,  and  quiet  as  she 
looked  he  could  feel  her  small  hand  tremble  in  his. 

"  I'll  take  off  your  hat,"  said  he,  untying  the  strings 


BARNEY'S  STOKY.  37 

with  unusual  deftness  for  a  boy.  "  What  pretty  yellow 
hair  she  has ;  look,  aunty,  it 's  fine  as  can  be." 

A  funny  little  smile  came  over  Marjorie's  face,  and 
Regie  saw  it.  "  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  said  he, 
suddenly. 

"Nothing — only"  —  stammered  poor  Marjorie,  very 
shamefacedly,  —  "  Judy  called  it  '  lasses  candy,'  and  I 
think  it 's  so  ugly." 

"  It 's  no  such  thing,"  said  Regie  warmly,  but  unable 
to  help  laughing  at  the  "  lasses  candy." 

"  You  had  better  take  Marjorie  up-stairs,  and  give 
Jane  her  cape  and  hat,"  said  Miss  Rachel.  "  Tea  is  almost 
ready.  There  is  a  bed  for  her,  you  know,  in  the  little 
room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Unless  she  would  prefer 
sleeping  with  Jane.  Are  you  afraid  to  sleep  alone, 
Marjorie  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am."  Marjorie's  eyes  were  round  with  de- 
light at  the  idea  of  a  little  room  all  by  herself. 

"  That 's  right,  Rex,"  said  his  father,  meeting  the  pair 
as  they  were  going  up-stairs ;  "  take  care  of  her  and 
amuse  her." 

Marjorie  thought  it  was  very  funny  to  have  a  big  boy 
like  Regie  pour  out  some  water  in  the  wash-bowl  for  her 
(the  pitcher  was  too  heavy  for  her  to  lift),  and  then  show 
her  where  the  soap  was,  and  open  a  door  and  hang  up  her 
hat  and  cape  in  a  small  closet.  She  was  losing  all  fear 
of  him ;  indeed,  Regie  had  his  father's  own  peculiar 
attraction  for  children,  and  mischievous  as  he  was,  was 
never  rough.  Beside,  having  no  sister,  he  had  an  intense 
longing  for  one,  and  greatly  admired  little  girls,  although 
boy-like  he  kept  it  locked  up  in  his  own  breast  for  fear 
the  boys  might  "  chaff  "  him. 

"  Will  those  posies  wash  off  ?  "  said  Marjorie,  pausing 


38  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

as  she  dried  her  hands  on  the  towel,  and  pointing  respect- 
fully at  the  flowers  on  the  outside  of  the  pitcher. 

"  You  might  try  scrubbing  'em  with  soap,"  said  Regie, 
quizzically.  "  Why,  no,  Marjorie,  they're  painted.  Did 
you  never  see  flowers  on  china  before  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  she.  "  Judy  washed  me  at  the  trough,  and 
Mrs.  Merrill  had  white  —  what-you-call-'ems  " — 

"  Basins,"  corrected  Regie.  "  There  's  the  tea-bell. 
Give  me  your  hand.  I'll  ride  you  down  stairs  pick-a- 
back." 

Marjorie  was  rather  alarmed  when  she  found  that  mys- 
terious word  meant  mounting  her  between  his  shoulders, 
but  his  arms  held  her  so  firmly  that  before  they  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs  she  enjoyed  it,  and  they  made  their 
entrance  into  the  dining-room  in  that  familiar  fashion. 
Aunt  Rachel  looked  rather  shocked,  but  Judge  Gray 
laughed,  and  began  quoting  "  Mother  Goose  "  at  Regie, 
and  patted  Marjorie  on  the  head,  and  gave  her  a  hot  bis- 
cuit and  some  oysters.  She  had  a  continual  struggle  with 
her  timidity,  however,  during  the  entire  meal.  The  silver 
fork  with  its  four  prongs  troubled  her,  and  she  gave  Judge 
Gray  one  of  her  touching,  grateful  glances  when  he  quietly 
put  a  spoon  on  her  plate  instead ;  and  the  well-dressed 
servant,  Jane,  standing  behind  Miss  Rachel's  chair  and 
handing  the  dishes  around  on  what  Marjorie  thought  was 
a  "  great  big  silver  plate  "  annoyed  her  terribly.  She  did 
not  eat  much,  to  Regie's  concern,  and  he  slipped  a  piece 
of  cake  into  her  hand  as  they  rose  from  the  table.  "  Come 
in  the  parlor  with  me,"  said  he ;  "  I'll  look  out  for  the 
crumbs,  aunty;  she  won't  let  'em  drop  on  the  carpet. 
Do  you  like  music,  Marjorie?" 

"  Barney  plays,  you  know,"  said  she,  "  and  he  sings 
'  Rory  O'More  '  sometimes  for  me,  and  '  Colleen  Bawn,' 
and"— 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  39 

Marjorie  stopped  short,  in  a  perfect  maze.  Her  feet 
sank  into  such  a  soft,  soft  carpet,  with  beautiful  bunches 
of  pink  and  blue  flowers  in  it,  on  a  pure  white  ground ; 
pictures,  of  different  sizes  in  gilt  frames  covered  the  walls, 
and  lastly,  she  gave  a  great  gasp  of  fright  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  long  mirror  which  extended  to  the  floor. 

"  Who  's  that  little  girl  ?  "  demanded  she,  squeezing  Re- 
gie's fingers  very  hard,  and  speaking  in  a  whisper.  Regie 
stared,  first  at  her  face,  then  at  the  pier-glass,  and  finally 
burst  into  a  ringing  peal  of  laughter. 

"  O  !  Marjorie,  you  funny,  funny  child !  Don't  you 
know  what  a  mirror  is  ?  Why,  that 's  a  little  girl  whom 
you're  intimately  acquainted  with  ;  her  name  is  Marjorie 
—  there  !  "  and  he  led  her  up  close. 

"  Why  —  it 's  me  !  "  The  amazed  whisper  cannot  be 
transcribed.  Then,  after  looking  at  the  reflection  for  a 
minute,  a  bit  of  a  smile  crossed  Marjorie's  troubled  face. 
"  How  nice  my  dress  looks  —  and  my  shoes !  " 

"  Regular  girl,"  quoth  Regie,  delightedly.  "  Come, 
you'll  have  a  chance  to  see  yourself  often  enough.  I  want 
to  play  for  you."  And  he  carried  her  over  to  the  piano, 
and  established  her  small  person  in  a  large  chair,  and  then 
sitting  down,  ran  his  fingers  over  the  keys.  The  piano 
was  a  grand  action  and  of  lovely  tone,  and  Regie  was  a 
musical  wonder  for  a  boy  of  his  age.  He  played  remark- 
ably well,  and  after  giving  Marjorie  a  specimen  of  "  Rory 
O'More,"  and  "  Old  Dan  Tucker,"  he  glided  off  into 
chords  and  improvising,  and,  finally  forgetting  all  about 
his  little  auditor,  played  the  beautiful  pathetic  prayer  from 
"  Moses  in  Egypt." 

Marjorie  sat  in  a  dream  of  pure  delight.  She  was  so 
happy  that  she  wanted  to  cry  ;  the  sensitive,  highly-strung 
nature  was  bewildered  at  itself.  And  Regie,  up  among 


40  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

the  musical  clouds  himself,  was  suddenly  recalled  to  the 
present  by  a  little  hand  on  his  arm,  and  a  voice  which 
said,  — 

"  Please,  please  don't !  I  want  my  mother,  —  O, 
dear!" 

The  sigh  went  straight  to  his  heart.  In  another  minute 
little  Marjorie  was  on  his  knee  with  her  yellow  head  on 
his  shoulder,  and  he  was  kissing  her,  and  talking  so  mer- 
rily that  she  had  no  idea  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
His  own  blue-eyed,  beautiful  mother  came  back  to  the 
boy's  remembrance,  and  Marjorie's  little  plaintive  cry  had 
gained  her  a  place  in  Regie's  impetuous  heart  which  she 
never  lost. 

"  I  like  your  fiddle,"  said  she,  after  laughing  at  some 
sally  of  his  that  sounded  marvelously  like  his  genial  father. 

"  My  what  ?  " 

"Your  fiddle, — this,"  touching  the  white  keys  rever- 
ently. "It 's  every  bit  as  nice  as  Barney's." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Regie,  smiling  at  this  very  modest 
compliment.  "  But  this  isn't  a  fiddle,  Madge  (I'm  go- 
ing to  call  you  Madge,  may  I  ?  Then  I'll  have  a  name  for 
you  that  nobody  else  had,  just  as  papa  calls  me  Rex)  ; 
this  is  a  piano.  Say  it  after  me." 

Which  Marjorie  did,  obediently,  although  she  said 
"  pianner,"  and  Regie  corrected  her,  and  made  her  repeat 
it  until  her  pronunciation  was  right. 

"  Come,  children,"  called  Judge  Gray,  from  the  hall, 
"  Aunt  Rachel  thinks  it 's  time  for  Marjorie  to  go  to  bed, 
and  you  ought  to  get  at  your  Greek,  Rex.  Run  along, 
you  lazy  dogs.  I'll  catch  you,"  and  he  sprang  up-stairs 
after  them  in  as  frolicsome  a  mood  as  Regie  himself. 

Miss  Rachel  was  standing  at  the  door  of  Marjorie's  little 
room.  "  You  undress  yourself,  Marjorie,  do  you  not  ?  " 
said  she. 


BARNEY'S  STORY.  41 

"  Yes,  ma'am."  Somehow,  Marjorie  could  not  get 
beyond  monosyllables  with  Miss  Rachel. 

"  Good-night,  my  dear,  v  Jane,  tuck  her  in  nicely,  and 
see  that  she  says  her  prayers,  —  dear  me  !  are  you  a 
Romanist,  child  ?  " 

"  A  what,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  bewildered  Marjorie. 

"  What  sort  of  prayers  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Barney  teached  me  an  '  Ave,'  but  Mrs.  Merrill  knew 
the  prayer  my  own  mother  said.  I  say  that  now,"  said 
Marjorie,  with  an  effort. 

"  That 's  right,  my  dear.  Good-night  again,"  and  Miss 
Rachel  closed  the  door,  and  went  softly  away. 

Jane  had  bright,  snapping  eyes,  and  a  rather  jerky  way 
of  doing  things  Marjorie  found,  for  she  whisked  off  the 
child's  clothes  in  a  trice,  and  told  her,  in  a  pert  voice,  to 
"  hurry  up."  So,  Marjorie  would  not  say,  "  Now  I  lay 
me  "  out  loud  as  she  had  done  with  Mrs.  Merrill,  but  knelt 
down  by  the  bed  and  repeated  it  to  herself  reverently. 
Then  Jane  tucked  her  up  as  Miss  Rachel  had  directed, 
and  took  away  the  light,  and  Marjorie's  tired  eyes  closed, 
and  she  slept  peacefully  as  an  infant  in  her  new  home. 


42  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SANTA  GLAUS'   VISIT. 

"  T  THINK  it 's  very  unwise,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  decid- 
-*-  edly.  "  James  is  so  benevolent  and  kind  that  lie  does 
not  reflect  what  the  result  will  be.  Why,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Livingston,  you  know  that  if  that  child  remains  much 
longer  at  my  brother's  she  will  be  quite  unfitted  for  going 
to  the  asylum.  The  way  that  Reginald  goes  on  about  her  " 
—  Mrs.  Marston  checked  herself  prudently.  Grandma 
never  would  listen  to  any  disparagement  of  Regie. 

"  Regie  is  very  fond  of  little  girls,"  said  grandma, 
smiling. 

"  Then  his  admiration  does  not  extend  to  his  relatives," 
said  Mrs.  Marston,  sharply,  glancing  toward  the  window, 
where  sat  a  very  showily  dressed  young  lady  of  ten  years. 
"  But  Lily  is  peculiar ;  she  has  her  fancies  also,  I  find.  I 
must  do  Rachel  the  justice  to  say  that  she  does  try  to 
keep  that  Irish  child  in  her  place,  but  she  is  so  kind-hearted 
that  if  Marjorie  (is  that  her  name,  Lily  ?)  — if  Marjorie 
keeps  clean  and  doesn't  make  crumbs  on  the  carpet  she  is 
at  liberty  to  roam  all  over  the  house.  To-day  when  I 
went  there  after  lunch,  will  you  believe  it !  I  found 
Marjorie  perched  upon  the  divan  in  the  dining-room,  and 
Reginald  playing  on  the  piano  for  her  ;  yes,  indeed," — 
Mrs.  Marston  paused,  out  of  breath.  She  was  a  very 
handsome,  stylish  woman,  but,  it  need  hardly  be  added, 
very  unlike  her  brother.  Marjorie  had  been  an  inmate  of 
Judge  Gray's  family  for  about  ten  days,  and  to-day  (be- 
ing the  day  before  Christmas)  Mrs.  Marston  had  gone  to 


SANTA    CLAUS'    VISIT.  43 

superintend  the  Christmas  tree  for  Regie,  as  was  her 
custom,  and  was  very  much  annoyed  to  find  that  the 
presents  hung  upon  it  marked  with  Marjorie's  name  were 
almost  as  numerous  as  those  of  his  little  cousins.  Regie 
had  become  warmly  interested  in  Marjorie,  and  had  not 
only  expended  most  of  his  pocket  money  in  gifts  for  her, 
but  had  wheedled  and  coaxed  his  grandmother  into  pur- 
chasing a  pretty,  though  inexpensive  set  of  gray  squirrel 
furs  for  his  protege,  to  which  the  dear  old  lady  added  a 
box  of  candy,  and  a  pair  of  red  yarn  stockings.  Mrs. 
Marston  was  too  wise  to  attack  her  brother  upon  the 
impropriety  of  his  patronage  of  an  orphan  child,  but 
preferred  to  make  a  statement  of  her  views  to  Grandma 
Livingston,  hoping  that  they  would,  in  this  way,  reach 
Judge  Gray. 

"  Well,"  said  grandma,  secretly  amused,  and  reading 
disapproval  of  the  furs  in  Mrs.  Marston's  eyes,  "  I  think 
Marjorie  is  a  very  remarkably  well  behaved  child,  and 
Regie  is  so  much  older  than  she  that  I  see  no  harm  in 
their  being  together.  Somehow,  Helen,  I  do  not  believe 
she  can  be  Irish  ;  her  language  is  so  very  good,  and  al- 
though she  makes  mistakes  in  grammar,  she  has  no  Irish 
brogue,  you  know." 

"  Irish  or  not,  if  she  is  to  go  into  the  asylum  I  think  it 
very  unwise  to  let  her  stay  so  long  at  James',"  replied 
Mrs.  Marston. 

"  There  has  been  scarlet  fever  at  the  asylum,"  said 
grandma,  "  and  of  course,  we  could  not  send  her  there 
until  the  danger  of  infection  is  over.  Marjorie  seems 
quite  a  delicate  child  ;  when  she  had  a  bad  cold  this  week 
Dr.  Gibbs  saw  her,  and  he  told  me  afterwards  that  she 
must  at  some  time  have  passed  through  a  severe  fit  of 
illness,  and  added  that  he  should  be  afraid  of  a  fever  and 


44  HARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

its  effect  upon  her  constitution.  I  saw  Miss  Brooks 
yesterday,  and  she  told  me  that  there  were  four  cases  now 
of  scarlet  fever  :  why,  I  don't  think  it  would  be  prudent 
to  send  Marjorie  there  for  a  month,  at  least." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  I  shall  keep  Lily  away  from 
my  brother's  as  much  as  I  can.  I  don't  choose  to  have 
her  in  such  company." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  grandma,  clicking  her  knitting  needles, 
"  you  don't  mean  that,  Helen.  Good,  clean  children  can 
contaminate  nobody ;  my  daughters  always  played  with 
Nurse  Laney's  children,  and  I  never  found  that  it  injured 
them  in  the  least." 

And  grandma  straightened  herself  a  little  proudly,  for 
she  was  a  Vanderventer,  and  had  as  much  family  pride  as 
anybody  can  have  in  our  democratic  country,  although  she 
was  too  thorough  a  lady  to  ever  boast  of  the  fact. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  come  over  to-morrow  night  and 
see  the  tree  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Marston,  drawing  her  sable 
furs  around  her  throat  and  rising  as  she  spoke.  "  Lily, 
run  and  kiss  Grandma  Livingston.  She  has  been  talking 
about  Betsey's  crullers  all  day  "  — 

"Dear  me,  I  forgot,"  interrupted  grandma;  "run  into 
the  pantry,  Lily,  and  find  them.  There  was  a  platter  full 
of  New- Year's  cake,  but  I  imagine  that  Regie  paid  it  a 
visit  this  morning.  Good-by  Helen  ;  don't  forget  to  send 
me  that  recipe  for  oyster  soup  that  you  promised  me,"  and 
grandma  trotted  out  to  the  door-step  to  see  her  visitors  off. 

Christmas  Day  dawned  bright  and  beautiful,  a  "  real 
perfection  of  a  Christmas,"  as  Regie  styled  it,  when  he 
came  rushing  in  to  breakfast  all  rosy  and  rampant  over  a 
snow-ball  fight  with  Marjorie  on  the  door-steps.  Aunt 
Rachel  suggested  that  he  should  run  over  and  wish  his 
grandparents  a  merry  Christmas,  and,  after  he  had  gone, 


SANTA    CLAUS'    VISIT.  45 

she  very  kindly  took  Marjorie  on  her  knee  and  told  her  a 
Bible  story,  about  the  Star  in  the  East  which  the  wise 
men  saw  on  that  wonderful  Christmas  morning  long  ago. 
Marjorie  thought  it  was  beautiful,  and  when  she  went  up- 
stairs to  be  dressed  for  church  she  repeated  it  all  to  Jane. 
But  Jane  was  not  appreciative,  and  did  not  seem  to  care 
for  little  stories,  but  told  her  how  the  church  would  be 
dressed  with  greens  and  flowers,  and  how  she  would  see  a 
star  there,  in  good  earnest. 

"In  the  day-time?"  said  Marjorie.  "You're  not 
telling  me  true,  Jane.  Stars  don't  shine  in  the  morning." 

"  Don't  you  be  telling  me  I  don't  spake  the  truth," 
said  Jane,  enforcing  her  remark  with  a  small  shake  of 
the  arm  she  was  washing.  "  Not  a  rale  star,  you  goose, 
but  one  av  gas,  sure,  and  quite  high  up.  Mind,  ye  look 
for  it." 

You  may  be  sure  that  Marjorie  did,  and  she  squeezed 
Regie's  hand  very  hard  when  she  saw  the  cross  of  gas- 
jets  sparkling  beneath  the  star.  She  had  never  been 
inside  of  a  church  in  her  life,  and  when  the  great  organ 
pealed  out,  she  climbed  up  on  the  seat  beside  Judge  Gray 
and  demanded  in  a  startled  and  very  audible  whisper,  — 

"  O,  isn't  that  a  great  big  fiddle-pianer  !  " 

Gravity  was  at  discount  among  the  inmates  of  the  pew 
at  that  remark.  Regie  nearly  strangled,  and  even  Miss 
Rachel  caught  the  contagion  of  Judge  Gray's  mirthful 
smile. 

All  day  long  Marjorie's  imagination  was  in  a  most  ex- 
cited state,  for  Regie  had  told  her  that  the  tightly  closed 
doors  of  the  library  concealed  a  tree  whose  fruit  was  of 
the  most  amazing  description.  He  had  been  full  of 
Christmas  and  its  festivities  for  three  days,  and  had  read 
the  story  of  the  German  "  Kris  Kringle  "  to  Marjorie, 


46  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

beside  giving  her  a  highly  colored  and  imaginative  picture 
of  Santa  Glaus.  Marjorie  had  dreamed  of  him  for  two 
nights,  and  had  coaxed  Regie  to  teach  her  the  poem  of 
"  The  Night  before  Christmas,"  which  Judge  Gray  kept 
quoting,  and  Christmas  morning  she  stood  by  the  Judge's 
chair  and  repeated  the  whole  of  it,  very  much  to  his  sur- 
prise and  her  tutor's  satisfaction. 

Evening  came  at  last ;  to  impatient  Regie  and  Marjorie 
the  day  seemed  very  long,  notwithstanding  the  Christmas 
dinner  at  grandma's,  where  the  table  was  loaded  with 
delicious  edibles,  and  where  they  finished  the  repast  with 
a  regular  English  plum-pudding.  At  five  o'clock  the 
family  began  to  assemble,  and  there  was  quite  a  party  of 
young  folks.  Mrs.  Marston  and  her  three  girls,  of  whom 
Lily  was  the  eldest ;  Judge  Gray's  brother,  Mr.  Norton 
Gray,  with  his  four  boys  and  one  little  fairy  daughter  of 
three  years ;  then  Mrs.  Maxwell,  grandma's  only  sur- 
viving daughter,  and  her  children.  There  were  seven  of 
them  :  Percy,  two  years  older  than  Regie,  a  Freshman  at 
Yale  and  very  superb  accordingly  (that  is,  at  home ; 
when  at  college  he  endured  a  sufficiency  of  snubbing 
from  those  intolerable  Sophs)  ;  then  Clara,  just  seventeen, 
and  a  very  pretty  girl,  looking  forward  with  impatience 
to  next  year  and  "  coming  out  "  in  society.  Mrs.  Mars- 
ton  was  Clara's  high  priestess  in  all  things  pertaining  to 
fashion,  and  she  had  been  falling  into  ecstasies  over  that 
lady's  lace  fan  ever  since  she  came  down-stairs,  appealing 
to  her  cousin,  Meta  Livingston,  to  know  if  it  was  not 
"  perfectly  exquisite."  Meta,  a  simple,  unaffected  child 
of  fifteen  (Regie's  favorite  of  all  his  tribe  of  cousins),  only 
laughed  a  little  in  reply.  Her  father,  Edmund  Livingston, 
was  grandma's  only  son,  and  Meta  herself  was  an  only 
child. 


SANTA   CLAUS'   VISIT.  47 

Marjorie's  timidity  was  holding  her  in  an  agony  of 
shame-facedness  at  the  back  of  Miss  Rachel's  chair.  This 
party  of  children  and  young  people  were  quite  overpow- 
ering to  the  child,  for  the  younger  members  of  it  stared 
at  her  unmercifully,  and  the  boys,  after  the  customary 
fashion  of  their  kind,  collected  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 
She  wondered  where  Judge  Gray  could  be,  — she  had  not 
seen  him  since  they  came  back  from  dinner.  And  Regie  ? 
Marjorie,  with  trembling  lip,  fancied  he  had  forgotten 
her.  But  when  the  library  doors  were  thrown  open  with 
a  grand  flourish  by  Percy  Maxwell  and  Jerry  Gray,  some- 
body lifted  Marjorie  up  suddenly  from  behind  the  others. 

"  There  !  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  funny  tree  as  that  ?  " 
said  Regie,  gayly,  putting  his  arm  around  her  lest  she 
should  fall  off  the  chair  where  he  had  placed  her. 

There  it  stood,  the  tall  graceful  tree,  reaching  nearly 
up  to  the  ceiling  of  the  room,  with  its  boughs  fairly  loaded 
with  all  manner  of  parcels,  and  pretty  colored  balls  and 
wax  tapers  to  light  up  the  Avhole.  The  party  of  children 
applauded  loudly,  and  Lily  Marston  called  out,  — 

"  O,  let 's  begin  ;  I'm  sure  that  lovely  doll  with  the  real 
hair  is  for  me,  —  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Lily,"  said  her  mother,  as  Mr.  Norton  Gray 
came  forward  and  began  to  speak. 

"  Young  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  before  we 
take  any  presents  from  the  tree  I  am  asked  to  introduce 
a  celebrated  stranger  to  you  who  has,  after,  earnest  per- 
suasion on  Judge  Gray's  part,  been  induced  to  stop  here 
long  enough  to  distribute  his  pack.  He  has  travelled 
very  many  miles  since  yesterday,  if  all  the  stories  told  of 
him  be  true,  and  he  has  many  more  to  go  to-night  to 
other  houses  where  the  children  are  expecting  him  as 
anxiously  as  you  are ;  so  you  are  requested  to  ask  him  no 


48  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

questions  but  let  him  get  through  with  his  task  as  speedily 
as  you  can.  I  hear  him  knocking  at  the  window  now, 
—  enter  SANTA  GLAUS  ! " 

Everybody  turned  simultaneously  toward  the  window, 
or  the  balcony,  whence  the  sound  proceeded.  Mr.  Nor- 
ton Gray  let  down  the  sash,  and  there  sprang  into  the 
room  the  queerest,  funniest  little  man  you  ever  saw.  • 
He  looked  exactly  like  the  Santa  Glaus  in  the  "  Night 
before  Christmas  ;  "  his  beard  was  long  and  white  and  so 
was  his  hair,  and  plenty  of  snow  and  little  icicles  clung  to 
his  clothes.  His  eyes  were  so  bright  and  merry,  they 
twinkled  and  laughed  and  flashed  at  the  children  in  such 
a  droll  way  that  every  one  began  to  laugh  before  he 
pulled  his  pack  open.  The  pack  was  quite  large,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  bent  double  under  it,  so  that  no  one  could 
tell  what  his  height  really  was,  for  the  hump  made  him 
appear  so  short.  The  first  person  whom  he  went  to  was 
Clara.  Stopping  in  front  of  her  he  made  a  droll  little 
bow,  and  rolled  in  her  lap,  —  a  tiny  looking-glass  !  Such 
a  shout  went  up  from  the  children  ;  pretty  Clara's  vanity 
was  well  known,  but  she  took  the  joke  in  very  good  part, 
and  said,  "  Thanks  to  your  Highness,"  very  pleasantly. 
Santa  Glaus  took  them  all  in  turn,  pulled  out  bonbons 
and  sugar-plums  and  scattered  them  over  the  floor,  where 
the  little  ones  flew  for  them  ;  he  dropped  a  pair  of  skates 
at  Jerry  Gray's  feet,  a  game  of  lotto  for  little  Jimmy 
Maxwell,  and  a  large  box  of  French  bonbons  in  Meta's 
lap.  But  when  he  came  toward  Marjorie  he  paused, 
gave  his  head  a  funny  shake,  which  made  an  icicle  fly  off 
his  beard  on  the  floor,  and  then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
sprang  toward  the  tree.  Marjorie,  who  had  been  watching 
him  in  an  ecstasy  of  amazement  and  delight,  not  daring 
to  turn  from  her  post  by  Regie,  saw  him  detach  from  a 


SANTA   CLAUS'    VISIT.  49 

branch  the  identical  doll  with  long  curls  which  had  been 
the  object  of  Miss  Lily's  desires,  and  suddenly,  with  a 
skip  and  bound,  the  agile  old  Santa  Glaus  thrust  it  into 
her  arms.  Marjorie's  face  of  beatific  delight  was  so 
lovely  that  Santa  Glaus  was  betrayed  into  a  smile,  and 
as  the  wondering  child  gazed  up  into  his  face,  she  gave  a 
joyous  cry. 

"  It 's  Judge  Gray  !  I  know  his  eyes  and  his  beautiful 
teeth  ! " 

There  was  a  round  of  applause,  and  poor  Marjorie,  pale 
and  trembling  at  the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  was  whisked 
up  by  Santa  Glaus. 

"  You  demure  little  rogue  !  So  you  found  me  out,  eh, 
Marjorie  ?  Come,  Norton,  help  me  off  with  my  pack," 
and  Judge  Gray  straightened  himself  and  took  off  his 
wig  and  false  beard,  and  laughed  heartily  to  think  that 
his  clever  disguise  had  been  penetrated  by  the  quick- 
witted child.  There  was  a  little  accompanying  thought 
of  pathos,  too,  and  perhaps  that  was  why  the  Judge  re- 
tained Marjorie's  hand  in  his  while  the  tree  was  being 
stripped.  Mrs.  Marston  noticed  it,  and  was  annoyed. 

The  children  ought  to  have  been  satisfied,  for  the  gifts 
that  the  tree  held  were  beautiful  and  numerous.  Regie 
had  some  elegantly  bound  books  from  his  father  and  his 
uncle  Livingston,  a  set  of  gold  studs  from  Aunt  Rachel, 
and  a  very  handsome  seal  ring  with  the  family  crest  cut 
on  it,  from  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Marston,  and  from  grandma  a 
pair  of  fur  gloves.  Clara  found  a  fan  sufficiently  like 
Mrs.  Marston's  to  make  her  fly  up  to  Judge  Gray  and 
give  him  a  grateful  kiss,  and  Meta  was  in  quiet  rapture 
over  a  pair  of  gold  bands  from  the  same  kind  uncle. 
Everybody  was  satisfied  except  Lily,  and  the  one  drop 
that  embittered  her  cup  was  the  lovely  doll  with  ringlets 


50  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

which  had  fallen  to  Marjorie.  It  was  Regie's  gift,  bought 
with  the  pocket  money  he  had  been  hoarding,  and  he 
was  fully  repaid  when  he  saw  his  little  playmate's  de- 
light. 

The  children  wandered  off,  after  a  while,  and  began 
playing  games,  in  little  knots,  the  smaller  children  in  one 
party  and  the  big  boys  and  girls  entertaining  each  other 
in  a  more  grown  up  manner.  Marjorie  curled  herself  up 
in  a  window  seat  in  silent  happiness,  with  her  treasures 
beside  her.  She  had  a  fine  cornucopia  and  a  bunch  of 
white  grapes  from  Aunt  Rachel,  grandma's  three  pres- 
ents, a  book  in  a  pretty  red  cover  from  Judge  Gray,  and 
lastly,  Regie's  doll.  Marjorie  thought  she  would  never 
tire  of  looking  at  its  blue  eyes,  and  real  genuine  hair, 
tied  with  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon.  Dolly  had  on  a  pretty 
white  dress,  trimmed  with  blue,  and  a  black  silk  apron, 
and,  —  yes,  shoes  !  This  discovery  was  very  overpower- 
ing indeed,  and  Marjorie  was  so  taken  up  with  it  that  she 
did  not  notice  that  the  children  were  gradually  drawing 
near  her. 

"  Le'  me  'ook  at  'ou  dolly,"  said  Patty  Gray,  edging 
up  with  a  pretty  smile. 

"  Yes,  you  may,"  said  Marjorie,  smiling  back  at  the 
winning  face.  "  But  be  careful ;  don't  let  her  fall, 
please." 

Emma  and  Cassie  Maxwell,  little  girls  of  ten  and 
twelve,  came  next,  and  begged  for  the  same  privilege, 
which  Marjorie  shyly  accorded,  and  then  Lily  crossed 
over  and  joined  the  group. 

"  Who  gave  you  the  doll  ?  "  asked  she  in  rather  a  rude 
voice. 

"  Regie,"  said  Marjorie,  all  her  timidity  returning  with 
more  painfulness  than  ever  under  the  gaze  of  Lily's  sharp 
dark  eyes. 


SANTA   GLAUS'   VISIT.  51 

"  I  don't  care,  I  think  Regie  ought  to  have  given  it  to 
me  instead  of  that  game.  I  hate  games,"  said  Lily,  pet- 
ulantly. 

"  Why,  ain't  you  ashamed,  Lily  Marston  ! "  said  her 
cousin  Emma. 

"  No,  I  ain't,  one  bit.  And  I  don't  see  what  Regie 
wants  to  give  a  real  beauty  of  a  doll  like  that  to  a  com- 
mon Irish  girl !  " 

Lily  had  spoken  rather  too  loudly  in  her  anger,  for  a 
hand  came  down  on  her  shoulder  swiftly,  and  a  hot 
impetuous  voice  cried,  — 

"  Lily  Marston,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  ! 
Marjorie  's  more  of  a  lady  than  you  are,  I  can  tell  you,  if 
she  is  Irish." 

The  older  members  of  the  company  paused  in  their 
busy  conversation,  and  Judge  Gray  spoke  across  the 
room,  — 

"  Rex,  my  boy,  what 's  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  here  's  Lily  Marston  calling  Marjorie  names. 
Aunt  Helen,  won't  you  please  speak  to  her.  Marjorie  is 
your  guest,  papa,  just  as  much  as  any  of  them,  and  I 
don't  see  why  Lily  should  be  rude  to  her." 

"  I'm  not !  "  burst  in  Lily,  pale  with  passion.  "  Mamma 
told  Grandma  Livingston  yesterday  that  she  was  a  com- 
mon Irish  child  and  that  I  shouldn't  come  here  while  she 
stayed  —  there  !  And  you  may  just  take  back  your  old 
game,  Mr.  Regie,  I  don't  want  it." 

"  Lily,  Lily  !  "  said  her  mortified  mother. 

"  Lily  !  "  her  uncle  James's  voice  was  stern  enough  to 
make  even  the  angry  child  pause, — "lam  ashamed  of 
you  !  To  speak  unkindly  to  a  little  orphan  child,  who  has 
never  had  a  doll  in  her  life ;  never  let  me  hear  you  say 
such  a  thing  again." 


52  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  You  may  go  up-stairs  and  stay  until  the  carriage 
comes,"  said  her  mother,  very  angry  at  having  her  un- 
guarded remark  repeated  in  public.  "  I  hope,  James, 
that  you  are  not  vexed  with  me  ?  "  lowering  her  voice, 
carefully. 

"  Your  aristocratic  proclivities  again,  Helen,"  said 
Judge  Gray.  "Vexed,  no,  but  you  see  the  result  of  such 
training  for  a  child." 

"  I  shall  punish  Lily,"  said  his  sister  frigidly.  "  But 
you  are  too  philanthropic.  You  don't  think  of  the  con- 
sequences." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  and  the  old,  sunny  smile  told  that  his 
momentary  anger  had  passed.  "  I  am  not  afraid  that 
Regie  will  be  contaminated.  Let  me  help  you  to  some 
oysters." 

Grandma  smiled  comically  as  she  caught  the  last  re- 
mark, and  rising,  went  to  look  for  Marjorie  and  Regie. 
She  found  them  sitting  on  the  stairs,  Marjorie  crying 
bitterly,  with  her  head  buried  in  the  boy's  arms. 

"  Highty  tighty  !  "  said  grandma,  cheerfully,  "  this  will 
never  do.  Why,  Marjorie,  you  haven't  done  anything 
wrong.  Never  cry,  unless  for  being  naughty." 

"Am  I  so  very  different  from  other  folks  ?  "  asked  the 
child,  forgetting  her  timidity  in  her  excitement.  "  I'm 
not  Irish  !  The  McKeons  were  Irish,  but  my  own  mother 
was  not." 

"  No,  I  do  not  believe  she  was,"  said  grandma,  quietly. 

She  was  thinking  that  this  deep  feeling,  sensitive, 
proud  nature  was  likely  to  receive  many  hard  knocks  in 
its  battle  with  the  world. 

"  She  had  no  right  to  speak  so,  —  no  right !  "  cried  Mar- 
jorie, the  sense  of  injustice  rankling  still. 

"  There,  Madge  ;  my  dear,  darling  Madge,  you  shall 


• 


'SHE   TUIINKI),    AND   SA\\r   MAIUORIK." 


SANTA  GLAUS'  VISIT.  53 

not  shed  another  tear,"  said  Regie.  "  If  you  do,  I'll  cut 
off  every  one  of  dolly's  curls  and  she'll  be  like  little  Bo- 
peep's  sheep." 

Marjorie  smiled.    Regie's  comical  voice  was  irresistible. 

"  Where  is  all  my  family  ?  "  called  Judge  Gray  from 
the  library  door.  "  Rex,  bring  that  child  here.  She  is 
to  sit  on  Santa  Glaus'  knee  and  eat  ice-cream ;  it  's  not 
every  one  who  can  eat  supper  with  Santa  Glaus.  What 
does  my  little  girl  say  to  that  ?  " 

And  he  carried  her  off  and  sat  down  with  her  between 
Meta  Livingston  and  Emma.  Meta  was  a  lovely  little 
girl,  and  felt  very  sorry  for  Marjorie's  mortification,  so  she 
talked  very  pleasantly  to  her  while  they  were  eating,  and 
she  and  Emma  helped  Marjorie  to  undress  the  doll,  and 
showed  her  how  to  put  the  clothes  on  again.  After  that 
Judge  Gray  proposed  a  game  of  "  blind-man's-buff,"  and 
offered  to  be  the  blind  man ;  and  such  screaming  and 
laughter  and  fun  as  they  had  it  is  not  possible  to  describe. 
But  during  the  game,  Mrs.  Marston  sitting  beside  grand- 
ma in  a  decidedly  moody  frame  of  mind,  felt  a  little  hand 
pull  her  sleeve,  timidly.  She  turned,  and  saw  Marjorie 
standing  by  her  chair,  her  downcast  face  almost  crimson. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  she  stammered,  terribly 
alarmed  at  her  own  daring,  "  might  I  — >  would  you  call 
Lily  down  again  ?  " 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  very 
much  surprised. 

"Because"  —  gaining  a  little  courage  from  grandma's 
kmd  eyes  —  "  she  —  she  must  be  sorry  to  miss  the  fun 
•  down  here  —  and  /  don't  mind,  ma'am,  at  all,  because 
I'm  not  Irish,  you  know." 

It  was  said  with  quiet,  natural  dignity,  and  Mrs.  Mars- 
ton  stared  at  the  blushing  face  in  greater  surprise  than 
ever. 


64  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Lily  ought  not  to  have  spoken  so,"  said  she.  "  Yes, 
I  will  send  for  her  since  you  have  asked." 

But  as  Marjorie  was  going  quietly  away,  grandma  drew 
her  toward  her  and  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,"  she  said,  tears  in  her  bright 
black  eyes.  "  And  God  takes  care  of  good,  kind,  forgiv- 
ing children,  always !  " 

Miss  Lily  made  her  appearance  after  a  while,  looking 
decidedly  sulky,  but  as  nobody  took  any  notice  of  it,  the 
sulkiness  passed  away  after  a  time,  and  she  joined  in  the 
games  as  blithely  as  any  of  them.  The  children  voted 
this  the  very  best  Christmas  tree  they  had  ever  had,  and 
flocked  around  Judge  Gray  for  a  joyous  good-night,  and 
he  packed  them  all  into  their  carriages  with  a  kiss  and 
a  funny  speech  for  everybody. 

But  when  Marjorie  said  her  prayers  that  night,  after 
putting  her  doll  snugly  in  bed,  she  smiled  happily  to  her- 
self as  she  remembered  what  grandma  had  said. 


MARJORIE'S  RED  CROSS  KNIGHT.  55 


CHAPTER    V. 
MABJOBEE'S  BED  CBOSS  KNIGHT. 

u  "O  EGIN  ALD,  do  you  know  where  Marjorie  is  ?  "  asked 

i^1  Miss  Rachel,  coming  into  the  library  where  Regie 
sat  poring  over  a  pretty  tough  bit  of  Greek.  "  I  am  going 
over  to  see  your  Aunt  Livingston,  and  I  thought  Marjorie 
might  like  to  go  with  me  and  see  Meta.  You  know  she 
promised  to  show  her  the  baby  house." 

"  Marjorie  ?  O,  she  's  up  in  my  room,  aunty.  I  haven't 
seen  you  since  dinner,"  said  Regie,  tossing  down  his 
book  with  a  merry  laugh ;  "  I  must  stop  studying  long 
enough  to  tell  you  her  last  funny  speech.  It 's  quite  good 
enough  for  '  Harper's '  or  any  of  the  newspapers." 

Miss  Rachel  smiled  indulgently.  She  was  growing 
quite  fond  of  hearing  of  Marjorie's  quaint  blunders. 

"  I  was  sitting  down  here,"  said  he,  "  and  I  found  I 
wanted  my  Latin  dictionary,  so  I  ran  up  after  it.  The 
little  monkey  had  made  a  sort  of  barricade  of  chairs  in 
one  corner  of  my  room,  and  tied  a  pillow-case  under  her 
chin  —  she  was  playing  church,  you  know,  —  and  there 
she  was,  mounted  upon  top  of  the  pile,  and  when  I  came 
tearing  in  she  looked  up  at  me,  with  the  gravest  face 
imaginable.  '  O,  Rex,'  said  she,  '  I  was  just  coming  down 
after  you.  I'm  the  clergyman,  you  know  ;  won't  you  come 
and  growl  while  I  pray  ? ' ' 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Miss  Rachel,  bursting  into  a  laugh. 

"  Just  what  she  said,  aunty ;  she  found  she  couldn't 
pray  and  make  responses  both,"  pursued  Regie,  as  plainly 


56  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

as  he  could  for  laughing,  "  so  she  wanted  me  to  do  the 
*  growling ! '  If  I  don't  think  that  's  the  best  hit  at  our 
indistinct  Episcopal  responses  that  I  ever  heard  in  my 
life.  Didn't  papa  just  roar  when  I  told  him !  "  and 
Regie  chuckled  at  the  recollection. 

"  She  is  certainly  the  oddest  child  I  ever  saw,"  said 
Miss  Rachel,  when  she  had  finished  laughing.  "  As  I  am 
rather  tired,  Reginald,  you  may  go  up  and  call  her.  Tell 
her  to  dress  warmly,  the  day  is  cold." 

Regie  rushed  up-stairs  in  his  usual  headlong  fashion, 
and  found  Marjorie  playing  with  her  doll  contentedly  in 
his  room.  That,  by  the  way,  was  her  place  of  refuge ; 
Regie  always  welcomed  her,  and  had  so  many  stories  to 
tell  her,  and  odd  nicknacks  to  show  her,  that  she  began 
to  regard  his  sanctum  as  a  sort  of  fairy-land.  She  was 
quite  pleased  at  the  idea  of  a  walk  with  Miss  Rachel  and 
a  call  upon  Meta ;  and  after  putting  dolly  into  the  easy- 
chair,  she  took  Regie's  hand  and  ran  down  to  her  room, 
where,  as  he  often  did,  he  took  down  her  cape  from  the 
closet  nail,  and  tied  her  hat  strings  neatly  under  her  chin. 

Marjorie  took  Miss  Rachel's  hand  and  trotted  along 
very  contentedly.  She  was  beginning  to  grow  accustomed 
to  city  sights  and  sounds,  and  they  did  not  frighten  or 
puzzle  her  as  they  did  at  first.  She  had  been  at  Judge 
Gray's  for  what  seemed  to  her  a  very  long  time  ;  it  was 
the  first  of  February  now,  and  the  scarlet  fever  at  the 
orphan  asylum  had  prevented  her  going  there  before  this. 
But  she  was  to  go  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  she 
thought  rather  soberly,  as  she  walked  along  through  the 
snow,  of  a  new  home  and  new  faces,  and  tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes  when  she  remembered  how  she  would  miss 
Regie  and  Judge  Gray.  For  the  Judge  had  frolicked  and 
played  with  her  almost  as  much  as  Regie,  and  she  loved 


MARJORIE'S  RED  CROSS  KNIGHT.  57 

him  with  an  intense,  passionate  love  which  she  could  feel, 
but  not  analyze. 

Miss  Rachel  talked  to  her  kindly,  and  she  began  to 
feel  more  cheerful  as  she  watched  the  sleighs  dashing  by 
with  their  lively  looking  occupants,  fast  horses,  and  merry 
bells.  Presently  they  had  a  smile  and  bow  from  Clara 
Maxwell,  riding  with  a  party  of  girls,  and  then  they  met 
Grandma  Livingston's  substantial  establishment,  with 
large  bay  horses,  and  black  and  white  robes,  and  old 
black  Pompey  on  the  box. 

Grandma  spoke  to  Pompey  when  she  saw  Miss  Rachel 
and  Marjorie  ;  he  turned  the  horses  up  to  the  curb-stone 
and  the  sleigh  stopped  beside  them. 

"  Pretty  cold  day  for  little  folks  to  be  walking,"  called 
out  grandma,  beckoning  to  them.  "  Jump  in,  both  of 
you  ;  I'll  take  you  where  you  want  to  go.  Is  Mr.  Gray 
using  your  sleigh,  Rachel  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  horses  is  sick,"  said  Miss  Rachel,  accept- 
ing the  invitation,  and  helping  Marjorie  up  the  step. 
"  We  are  going  to  Mr.  Edmund  Livingston's.  Meta 
wanted  me  to  bring  Marjorie  to  see  her." 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  a  note  there,"  said  grandma. 
"You  won't  take  me  out  of  my  way  at  all.  How  is 
Regie  ?  I  was  quite  anxious  about  that  sore  throat." 

"  He  never  takes  any  care  of  himself,"  said  Miss  Rachel. 
"  His  father  doctored  him  last  night,  however,  and  he  is 
much  better  to-day.  There  is  Helen,"  as  Mrs.  Marston's 
sleigh  flew  past  them.  Lily  was  on  the  back  seat,  gayly 
dressed,  as  usual ;  she  gave  Marjorie  a  cool  nod,  but 
kissed  her  hand  to  grandma. 

Marjorie  liked  sleighing,  especially  on  such  a  wide 
avenue,  where  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  the  stream  of 
sleighs,  and  she  was  a  little  sorry  to  find  how  quickly  they 


58  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

were  at  Meta's  door.  Meta's  own  sweet  face  was  look- 
ing out  of  the  window,  and  she  came  running  out  to  the 
door  to  meet  them. 

"  Mamma  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Gray," 
said  she.  "  You  were  very  kind  to  bring  Marjorie  this 
afternoon.  I  have  been  obliged  to  stay  in  because  of  a 
slight  cold ;  papa  is  so  much  afraid  of  my  getting  a  cough. 
Mamma,  here  are  two  visitors ;  this  is  little  Marjorie." 

Mrs.  Livingston  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  Marjorie 
thought  she  was  very  pretty  ;  but  oh,  so  pale.  She  had 
been  a  great  invalid  and  had  not  walked  across  the  room 
for  many  months,  but  her  voice  was  very  soft  and  pleas- 
ant, and  she  took  Marjorie's  hand  in  her  own  transparent 
one,  and  asked  the  child  several  questions,  full  of  kindly 
interest.  Miss  Rachel  drew  up  a  chair  and  seated  herself 
close  at  Mrs.  Livingston's  side,  and  Meta  taking  Marjorie 
by  the  hand,  went  up-stairs. 

"  How  's  Regie  ?  "  asked  Meta.  "  I  haven't  seen  him 
since  last  Sunday." 

"  He  had  a  sore  throat,"  said  Marjorie,  "and  he  took 
some  black  stuff  last  night ;  I  tasted  it,  and  it  was  hor- 
rid." 

"  That  was  obliging  of  you,"  said  Meta,  laughing. 
"  This  is  my  room.  Isn't  it  pretty  ?  Papa  got  the  new 
carpet  and  paper,  and  mamma  gave  me  those  pictures 
('  Night  and  Morning  ')  for  Christmas." 

"  And  all  those  books  ?  "  asked  Marjorie,  standing  in 
admiration  before  the  book-case  with  its  neatly  filled 
shelves.  "  You  must  be  a  very  smart  girl  to  know  all 
those.  I  am  only  at  words  of  three  syllables." 

"  I  think  you  get  along  very  fast.  Regie  teaches  you, 
doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,    and    Judge   Gray,   and  —  sometimes  —  Miss 


MARJORIE'S    RED   CROSS   KNIGHT.  59 

Rachel.  O  !  "  and  Marjorie  stood  transfixed  with  de- 
light in  front  of  a  genuine  baby-house. 

She  had  never  even  imagined  anything  of  the  sort.  It 
was  over  four  feet  high,  and  was  in  fact  a  complete  little 
house,  with  all  its  appointments.  There  was  the  kitchen 
with  its  stove  and  dresser  all  filled  with  cooking  utensils ; 
the  pantry,  too,  with  dishes,  and  a  doll  dressed  as  a  cook 
sitting  bolt  upright  in  a  chair  beside  the  table.  There 
was  the  parlor,  and  dining-room,  carpeted  and  furnished, 
one,  in  blue  and  yellow,  and  the  other  in  red.  There 
was  even  a  tiny  piano  in  the  parlor  which  wound  up  in 
some  mysterious  way,  and  played  two  tunes,  and  long 
glasses,  like  the  one  which  had  given  Marjorie  such  a 
fright  the  first  time  she  saw  herself  in  it  at  Judge  Gray's. 
On  the  second  floor  were  three  bedrooms,  and  another 
hall,  with  a  staircase,  leading  up  to  the  rooms  in  the 
attic;  "  for  the  servants,"  as  Meta  said.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful French  plaything,  and  as  Meta  had  kept  it  very 
carefully,  nothing  had  become  broken  or  tarnished.  She 
allowed  Marjorie  to  see  every  part  of  it ;  and  they  had 
a  merry  time  overhauling  the  furniture  and  pretending 
that  it  was  time  for  "  house-cleaning." 

"  There  's  Miss  Gray  calling  us,"  said  Meta,  at  last 
starting  up.  "  Marjorie,  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll 
make  a  new  hat  for  Seraph ina ;  it 's  most  time  for  a 
spring  bonnet  you  know." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  The  glad,  grateful  color  flew  into  Mar- 
jorie's  face.  "  What  will  you  make  it  of  ?  " 

"  Pink,  or  blue,  whichever  you  like  best." 

"  Well,  pink,  please.     Her  dress  is  blue  "  — 

"  Then  I'll  make  the  hat  blue  and  put  pink  rosebuda 
on  it.  Miss  Gray,  are  you  tired  waiting  for  us  ?  " 

"  O,  no  !  "  said  Miss  Rachel ;  "  your  mother  and  I 
have  had  a  very  pleasant  talk." 


60  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Why  here  's  Pompey,"  said  Meta,  looking  out  of  the 
window.  "  Did  you  expect  the  sleigh  ?  " 

"  No,  but  your  grandmother  has  been  kind  enough  to 
send  it  back  for  us ;  come,  Marjorie.  Good-by,  Meta," 
and  Miss  Rachel  kissed  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  her  little 
daughter  attended  them  to  the  door. 

When  Marjorie  got  home  after  her  drive  she  ran  off  to 
find  Regie  and  told  him  all  about  her  call,  and  Meta's 
promise  to  increase  Seraphina's  wardrobe.  Regie  lis- 
tened kindly,  as  he  always  did,  and  then  carried  her  off 
to  tea,  and  was  particularly  attentive  to  all  her  little 
wants  during  that  meal. 

The  fact  was,  Regie  was  feeling  a  little  blue,  though 
he  would  not  have  confessed  it  for  the  world.  His 
father  had  told  him  that  afternoon  that  Marjorie  must 
go  to  the  asylum  the  next  day,  and  (although  Regie 
knew  that  it  was  probably  the  best  plan)  he  did  not  like 
to  think  how  much  he  would  miss  her.  The  boy  had 
such  a  loving  heart,  and  Marjorie,  with  her  quaint  ways 
and  bright  speeches,  and  her  utter  loneliness,  had  ap- 
pealed to  him  in  the  tenderest  possible  way.  He  did 
not  say  much  about  it,  even  to  his  father,  but  he  was 
very  loth  to  lose  her,  and  he  resolved  that  he  would  see 
as  much  of  her  while  at  the  asylum  as  possible. 

"  Come  into  the  parlor,  Madge,"  whispered  he,  after 
tea  ;  "  let 's  have  some  music." 

"Yes,"  said  she,  hesitating.  "But  —  Regie  —  do  you 
mind  waiting  a  little  while  for  that  ?  You  heard  what 
your  father  said  —  about  to-morrow," — Marjorie's  lips 
began  to  tremble. 

"That  you  were  going  to  the  asylum?"  said  Regie, 
hastily.  "  Yes,  I  know,  but  that 's  only  five  blocks  off, 
and  I  shall  see  you  often.  What  shall  we  do,  then, 
instead  of  the  music  ?  Play  lotto  ?  " 


MARJOBIE'S  RED  CROSS  KNIGHT.  61 

Marjorie  shook  her  head.  "  I  'd  like  to  hear  more 
about  what  you  were  telling  me  last  night.  Don't  you 
remember  ?  about  the  stars  and  Satan  "  — 

"  Saturn,"  said  Regie,  laughing.  "  So  you  liked  my 
astronomical  lecture,  did  you  ?  Come  along,  we'll  go  up 
in  papa's  room,  that 's  the  best  view,  out  of  the  back 
windows." 

Regie  perched  himself  in  a  chair,  and  mounted  Mar- 
jorie upon  the  window  ledge,  and  began  to  talk  to  her 
very  pleasantly.  He  was  extremely  fond  of  astronomy, 
and  already  looked  forward  to  having  a  telescope  for 
studying  the  heavens,  and  he  had  his  father's  simple 
tact  in  making  everything  entertaining  and  intelligible 
to  a  child.  Marjorie's  mind  was  a  quick  one,  and  she 
listened  with  eager  attention  while  Regie  told  her  of  the 
Great  Bear  and  his  smaller  counterpart,  and  the  Polar 
Star  and  its  uses ;  how  the  woodmen  and  the  mariners 
turned  to  it  for  guidance  ;  and  then,  wandering  off,  he 
told  her  a  pretty  story  about  the  lost  Pleiad.  Just  then 
a  brilliant  star  shot  swiftly  across  the  heavens  and 
flashed  out  of  sight. 

"  O  !     "What  was  that  ?  "  cried  Marjorie. 

"  A  shooting  star.  There  is  a  pretty  German  super- 
stition (that  means  a  belief  in  signs  and  wonders),  that 
when  a  star  darts  across  the  sky  like  that,  a  soul  has 
gone  home  to  God.  You  ought  to  wish  on  a  falling  star, 
Madge  —  O,  quick  —  there  's  another." 

"  Well,"  said  Regie,  after  a  pause,  looking  down  into 
the  sober  little  face  by  his  side.  "  I  wished.  What  did 
you  wish,  Madge  ?  " 

"  That  I  might  find  my  father,"  said  she,  sighing. 
Regie  started,  and  checked  his  whistle  of  amazement. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  him?"  asked  he. 


62  JIARJOKIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Nothing ! "  A  large  tear  rolled  slowly  down  her 
cheek. 

"  What  made  you  wish,  then  ?  " 

"  Because  —  somehow,  I  don't  believe  he  's  dead.  I 
feel  it  here,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  bosom. 

"  Do  you  remember  him  ?  "  asked  Regie. 

"  No.  And  my  mother  only  a  little  ;  the  night  she 
died,  —  but  Barney  told  me  about  that  "  — 

Regie  was  intensely  interested.  He  was  quite  confi- 
dent that  his  father  had  heard  nothing  of  Mar j  one's 
recollections,  and  if  there  was  any  mystery  about  her  he 
meant  to  try  to  fathom  it.  So,  bit  by  bit,  he  drew  the 
whole  story  from  Marjorie,  as  Barney  had  told  it  to  her ; 
and  at  last,  she  untied  the  little  bracelet  from  its  ribbon 
on  her  neck  and  showed  it  to  him. 

"  I'm  so  afraid  I'll  lose  it,"  said  she.  "  Barney  told 
me  if  I  kept  it  the  Holy  Virgin  would  take  care  of  me, 
but  you  don't  believe  in  the  Holy  Virgin,  Regie  —  so  I 
sha'n't ! " 

Regie  smiled.  "  I  don't  pray  to  her,"  said  he.  "  You 
are  going  to  be  a  little  Protestant  now,  and  pray  to 
God,  '  Our  Father,'  you  know ;  not  to  the  saints.  But, 
Madge,  I'm  puzzled  to  know  what  to  say  to  you  about 
your  bracelet.  It  might  help  you  to  find  your  father  "  — 

"  Would  it  ?  "  cried  she,  with  a  scream  of  joy. 

"  I'm  not  sure,  dear,"  said  he  more  cautiously.  "  At 
all  events  you  must  not  lose  it.  I  tell  you  what ;  —  I'll 
take  it,  and  lock  it  up  in  my  strong  box  for  you  until  you 
get  to  be  a  big  girl,  and  then  we'll  search  for  your 
father.  I  mean  to  set  to  work  and  find  out  who  you 
really  are,"  said  the  boy,  resolutely.  Like  a  young 
knight  of  olden  time,  he  wished  he  could  sally  forth, 


MARJORIE'S  RED  CROSS  KNIGHT.  63 

armed  cap-a-pie,  to  roam  over  the  world  and  discover  the 
hidden  links  of  Marjorie's  history. 

"  There  was  a  story  written  ever  so  long  ago,  Mar- 
jorie,  by  a  poet  named  Spenser,  about  a  maiden  whom 
he  called  the  '  faire  Una,'  and  her  protector  and  defender 
was  a  certain  Red  Cross  Knight.  You  remember  those 
pictures  I  showed  you  last  week  of  the  knights  in  armor ; 
well,  like  that,  with  a  red  cross  on  his  shield.  Don't 
cry,  Madge,  darling ;  I'll  be  your  Red  Cross  Knight  — 
see  if  I  won't !  Only,"  a  sudden  boyish  blush  crossing 
his  handsome,  animated  face,  "  don't  you  tell  any  one  I 
said  so.  How  the  fellows  would  laugh  at  me  !  " 

"  For  taking  care  of  me  ? "  said  the  plaintive  voice 
beside  him. 

"  No,  dear ;  not  exactly.  You  must  try  and  think, 
often,  about  the  time  you  speak  of  when  you  were  in  the 
room  with  the  queer  bird,  and  see  if  you  cannot  recollect 
more.  But  come,  Madge,  we  won't  think  of  it  any  more 
to-night,  or  our  friends,  the  stars,  either.  I'll  carry  you 
down-stairs  if  you  like,  and  we'll  have  our  game  of  lotto." 

Marjorie  held  up  her  little  face  to  be  kissed,  and  whis- 
pered, "  Don't  you  tell  any  one,  Rex,  about  the  bracelet." 

Regie  promised,  and  rummaged  in  his  closet  until  he 
found  a  dissected  map  with  a  remarkable  picture  of  the 
story  of  the  old  woman  who  went  to  market  to  sell  some 
gjese,  which  he  dragged  out  and  took  down-stairs  to 
amuse  Marjorie.  And  after  that  Judge  Gray  took  her 
on  his  knee,  and  told  her  a  story,  and  then  Regie  played 
for  half  an  hour  for  his  father  and  her,  ending  with  Mar- 
jorie's favorite,  the  beautiful,  grand  prayer  from  "  Moses 
in  Egypt." 

So  Marjorie's  last  evening  at  Judge  Gray's  passed  away, 
and  when  she  fell  asleep  she  dreamt  that  she  had  found 


64  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

her  father,  and  that  he  was  a  knight  in  black  armor  with 
a  huge  red  cross  on  his  bright  shield  ;  and  that  when  she 
ran  up  to  clasp  her  arms  around  his  neck,  the  iron  visor 
fell  off,  and  there  was  Regie's  handsome,  mischievous  face 
laughing  at  her,  instead. 


A  NEW  HOME.  65 


CHAPTER  VL 

A  NEW  HOME. 

EARLY  the  next  morning,  just  after  her  breakfast, 
grandma  ordered  her  sleigh,  and  drove  over  to  Judge 
Gray's.  She  thought  that,  under  the  circumstances,  it 
would  be  best  for  her  to  take  Marjorie  to  the  asylum,  in- 
stead of  letting  the  child  go  with  Miss  Gray.  She  found 
Marjorie  in  a  corner  of  the  library,  beside  the  fire,  very 
pale,  very  quiet  and  sad,  with  the  old  mute  look  of  pa- 
tience written  in  every  line  of  her  face.  Regie  had  bolted 
his  breakfast  in  great  haste  and  rushed  off  to  a  recitation, 
thereby  making  his  good-by  a  very  hurried  one ;  indeed, 
he  felt  it  too  much  to  do  anything  else.  Judge  Gray  was 
holding  court  that  week,  but  although  he,  too,  went  out 
directly  after  breakfast,  he  found  time  to  take  a  rosy- 
cheeked  apple  and  a  large  sweet  orange  from  the  fruit- 
basket,  and  put  them  in  Marjorie's  pocket  with  a  mis- 
chievous laugh,  and  a  quotation  from  "  Mother  Goose  "  : 

"  Sally  McGee,  my  mammy's  maid, 
She  stole  oranges,  I  am  afraid : 
Some  in  her  pocket,  and  some  in  her  sleeve,  — 
And  she  stole  oranges,  I  do  believe!  " 

Whereat,  Marjorie  was  fain  to  smile  also,  and  then  the 
Judge  kissed  her,  pinched  her  cheek,  and  told  her  to  "  keep 
her  face  clean,"  and  hurried  away  to  the  court  room  where, 
by  the  way,  he  was  never  known  to  be  behind  time. 
Regie,  who  used  to  accompany  his  father  there  frequently, 
one  day,  to  his  great  glee,  overheard  a  lawyer  from  a 
neighboring  city  say  to  a  by-stander,  with  a  shrug  of  his 


66  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

shoulders,  "No  hope  of  my  case  being  postponed  to-day; 
I  see  you've  got  Promptness  on  the  bench." 

"All  ready,  Marjorie?"  said  grandma,  bustling  in 
with  such  a  bright,  cheery  face  that  one  almost  smiled  to 
see  it. 

"  Have  you  got  her  clothes  ready,  Rachel  ?  Come  to 
think  of  it,  you  know  she  will  have  her  gingham  frock 
and  apron  like  all  the  rest  of  the  children ;  this  dress  will 
be  kept  for  visiting." 

"  I  have  put  in  the  underclothes  which  James  wanted 
me  to  have  made  for  her,"  said  Miss  Rachel.  "  I  did  not 
send  that  broche*  shawl  which  she  wore  the  day  James 
found  her.  It  can  be  of  no  use  to  her  now,  and  so  I  told 
her  that  I  would  put  it  away  for  her.  Indeed,"  lowering 
her  voice,  "it  is  such  a  fine,  pretty  one  that  I  cannot  ac- 
count for  its  being  in  her  possession  at  all." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  grandma,  reflectively.  "  You  are  quite 
right.  I  will  look  at  it  some  day  when  I  am  not  in  such 
a  hurry.  Come,  Marjorie  ;  I  guess  that  Pompey  will  be 
cold  sitting  out  there." 

Miss  Rachel  kissed  Marjorie  very  kindly,  and  went  as 
far  as  the  door  with  them,  and  actually  stood  in  it  and 
nodded  to  them  until  the  sleigh  turned  the  corner.  With 
all  her  queer,  odd,  fussy  ways,  Miss  Rachel  was  a  very 
good  woman,  and  she  had  taken  quite  a  liking  for  the 
little  waif. 

The  orphan  asylum  so  often  alluded  to,  stood  in  quite 
a  commanding  position,  on  a  hill  overlooking  the  city.  It 
was  a  large  brick  building,  and  Marjorie  thought  she  had 
never  seen  so  many  windows  before.  On  the  southeast 
side  was  a  play-ground ;  grandma  showed  her  where  it 
was,  but  it  was  quite  empty  now,  as  the  children  were  in 
the  school-room.  A  tidy  looking  girl  opened  the  door, 


A  NEW  HOME.  67 

and  grandma  walked  down  the  long  hall  into  a  room  at 
one  end  of  it,  while  Marjorie  came  timidly  behind  her. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mrs.  Livingston  ?  "  said  a  hearty  voice. 
"  I  didn't  expect  you  quite  so  early.  And  this  is  the 
little  girl  ?  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  ?  What 's  your 
name  ?  " 

Marjorie  gave  her  hand,  and  ventured  to  look  up  in  the 
matron's  face  as  she  did  so.  She  thought  she  had  never 
seen  such  a  large  woman.  Miss  Brooks  was  very  stout  as 
well  as  very  tall,  and  as  she  seldom  moved  from  her  chair, 
and  walked  as  little  as  she  could  possibly  help,  her  stout- 
ness did  by  no  means  decrease  with  her  years.  But  she 
had  such  a  good,  kind  face  ;  Marjorie  drew  a  step  nearer 
to  the  arm-chair  as  she  met  the  gaze  of  the  bright  black 
eyes  fixed  on  hers. 

"  A  case  for  adoption,"  said  Miss  Brooks,  eying  her, 
and  nodding  her  head  emphatically.  "  You  won't  stay 
long.  Just  the  kind,  Mrs.  Livingston  ;  the  quiet  ones  al- 
ways go  off  soonest.  And  this  one  isn't  half  as  homely 
as  she  might  be,  neither.  What 's  this  in  your  arms, 
Marjorie  ?  " 

"  Seraphina,  ma'am,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  A  doll,  to  be  sure,  —  what  a  pretty  one.  I've  got 
such  a  nice  place  for  her  in  this  drawer  ;  see,"  and  Miss 
Brooks  opened  one  at  her  elbow  as  she  spoke. 

The  prospect  of  being  without  Seraphina  untied  Mar- 
jorie's  tongue.  "  O,  please  ma'am,"  ventured  she,  "  can't 
I  keep  her  ?  She  's  all  the  company  I've  got." 

"  You'll  have  ever  so  many  little  girls  for  company," 
said  Miss  Brooks.  "  And  you  can  have  her  to  play  with 
every  Saturday.  We  don't  give  the  children  toys  every 
day,  because  they  have  to  study  (learn  to  read  and  write, 
you  know),  and  then,  after  lessons,  I  want  them  to  exercise 


68  MARJORIK'S  QUEST. 

in  the  open  air.  But  I  will  keep  her  veiy  carefully,  my 
dear,  and  sometimes,  when  you  come  in  my  room,  I  will 
let  you  have  her,  certainly." 

Marjorie  stood  very  still,  but  grandma  saw  her  eyelids 
quiver. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  she,  "  Marjorie  and  I  want  to  go 
into  the  school-room." 

Miss  Brooks  led  the  way,  and  as  they  drew  near  the 
door,  Marjorie  heard  a  confused  murmur  of  voices,  and 
then  as  it  opened,  a  sudden  hush,  followed  by  the  rising 
of  all  the  children  as  they  saw  Mrs.  Livingston  enter. 
Such  an  army  of  blue-coated,  gingham-aproned  children  ! 
An  hundred  and  fifty  pairs  of  eyes  turned  full  upon  poor 
Marjorie,  staring  as  children  alone  can  stare  ;  no  wonder 
she  shrank  behind  portly  Miss  Brooks  and  wished  that 
the  floor  would  open  and  hide  her  from  their  scrutiny. 

"  Good-morning,  children,"  said  grandma.  "  I've 
brought  another  little  girl  here  to-day.  Sarah,"  to  Miss 
Brooks,  "  I  think  you  might  put  her  at  the  desk  with 
that  little  girl  whom  Mrs.  Peters  got  admission  for." 

"  Just  as  well  as  not.     Come  here,  Joey." 

In  answer  to  Miss  Brooks's  call,  a  little  girl,  somewhat 
taller  than  Marjorie,  left  her  desk  and  walked  toward 
them.  She  had  the  reddest  possible  hair,  which  being 
very  thick  stood  out  in  bushy  curls  all  over  her  head,  but 
her  face  was  very  bright  and  laughter-loving,  and  she  had 
a  most  mischievous  pair  of  black  eyes. 

"  This  is  Marjorie,"  said  Miss  Brooks,  as  Joey  paused 
hi  front  of  them.  "  She  will  sit  at  your  desk,  and  you 
can  show  her  where  your  lesson  is." 

"  The  children  look  very  well  and  happy,"  said  grand- 
ma, looking  down  at  the  rows  of  little  faces.  "  Now,  be- 
fore I  go  I  want  to  hear  you  all  sing." 


A   NEW   HOME.  69 

A  smile  ran  around,  and  there  was  a  dive  for  song-books. 

"  Children,"  said  Miss  Hannah,  the  teacher,  tapping 
her  desk  to  call  attention.  "  You  had  better  sing  that 
song  which  Meta  taught  you  the  last  time  she  was  here." 

They  sang  very  nicely,  and  in  good  tune  and  time,  and 
this  pleased  grandma.  The  children  always  expected  to 
be  asked  to  sing  whenever  Mrs.  Livingston  visited  them, 
and  tried  to  do  their  best  as  the  dear  old  lady  smiled  at 
them,  and  beat  the  time  with  her  foot.  Marjorie  thought 
it  was  all  very  new  and  strange,  and  Joey,  standing  be- 
side her,  opened  her  mouth  and  sang  away  in  a  very  shrill, 
piping  voice,  nodding  her  head  every  minute. 

After  the  singing,  grandma  went  up  and  talked  for  a 
few  moments  to  the  teacher,  and  then,  coming  back  to 
where  Marjorie  sat  at  Joey's  desk,  she  kissed  her,  and 
said  good-by. 

"  I  shall  be  up  at  the  monthly  meeting  next  week," 
said  she.  "  Be  a  good  child,  and  Regie  won't  forget  to 
come  and  see  you." 

The  door  closed  behind  Mrs.  Livingston  and  the  ma- 
tron, leaving  Marjorie  feeling  forlorn  enough.  Presently, 
the  teacher  came  down  to  her  side,  and  questioned  her 
about  what  she  had  learned,  and  put  her  in  a  reading  and 
spelling  class  with  Joey.  Then  she  gave  Marjorie  a  copy- 
book with  little  up-strokes  and  down-strokes,  very  much 
like  pot-hooks,  and  told  her  to  copy  two  lines  and  bring 
them  to  her.  But  before  she  finished  them  the  scholars 
had  a  recess,  and  Joey  banged  the  lid  of  her  desk  with 
great  energy,  and  invited  Marjorie  to  come  out  for  a 
game  of  tag. 

Marjorie  went,  a  little  unwillingly,  and  was  straight- 
way surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  girls,  chiefly  larger  than 
herself.  They  began  to  ply  her  with  questions. 


70  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  What 's  your  name  ?  "  demanded  one. 

"  Marjorie."" 

"  Marjorie  what  ?  "  said  another. 

"  Just  that —  Marjorie,"  said  she,  coloring  painfully. 

"  Law !  What  a  funny  girl.  She  hain't  got  no  other 
name,"  said  the  first  speaker  with  a  rude  laugh.  "  Didn't 
you  never  have  any  father  or  mother  ?  " 

"  You  just  let  her  'lone,  Maggie  Gorman,"  said  Joey, 
interposing  suddenly.  "  Mrs.  Livingston  said  I  was  to 
take  care  of  her,  and  t'aint  none  of  your  affairs  if  she 's 
got  one  name  or  two.  Let 's  play  tag  ;  who'll  be  on  my 
side  ;  hold  up  your  hands,  girls." 

At  it  they  went  with  great  glee,  but  Marjorie  begged  so 
hard  to  be  allowed  to  look  on  from  the  door-step  that 
Joey  left  her  unmolested. 

"  Don't  you  like  to  play  in  the  snow  ?  "  said  a  little 
voice  at  her  side,  breaking  in  upon  her  meditations  at  last. 
Marjorie  looked  up,  and  saw  a  boy  about  her  own  age, 
but  with  a  pale  face  and  thin  white  hands.  Looking  at 
him  more  closely  she  saw  that  he  was  lame. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  snow-balling  ?  "  said  she,  answer- 
ing one  question  with  another. 

"  I  can't,"  said  he  simply,  glancing  at  his  lame  foot. 

"  O,  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Marjorie,  involuntarily. 

"  'Cause  I'm  lame?  O,  I  don't  mind  that;  everybody  's 
very  good  to  me  here.  Miss  Brooks,  I'll  tell  you  what, 
she  's  awful  nice.  She  gave  me  oranges  when  I  was  sick." 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  one  now,"  said  Marjorie,  suddenly 
remembering  Judge  Gray's  gift.  "  I've  got  a  big  one 
here  ;  can't  we  come  in  the  house  and  eat  it  ?  " 

"  If  you'd  just  as  lief  go  halves,"  said  the  lame  boy, 

gratefully.    "  My  name 's  Willy  Blanc — what 's  yours  ?  " 

"  Marjorie,"   said   she,   and  was  relieved  to   find  it 


A   NEW   HOME.  71 

seemed  to  satisfy  her  new  friend  entirely.  Willy  limped 
up  to  the  teacher's  desk  and  asked  for  a  knife,  and  Miss 
Hannah  gave  him  one  with  an  injunction  not  to  cut  his 
fingers,  and  then  Marjorie  and  he  sat  down  and  ate  the 
orange.  He  talked  away  very  pleasantly  to  her,  and  told 
her  how  long  he  had  been  at  the  asylum,  and  the  names 
of  the  boys  who  were  good  to  him,  and  of  the  nicest  girls. 
Marjorie  liked  him. 

Recess  was  not  very  long,  and  the  orange  had  just  been 
finished  when  the  children  came  tramping  back,  rosy  and 
laughing  after  their  various  games.  Pretty  soon  after 
recess  the  dinner-bell  rang  loudly,  and  they  all  went  into 
the  dining-room  and  took  their  places  at  a  long  table. 
There  seemed  to  be  good  food  and  plenty  of  it,  but  Mar- 
jorie could  not  eat.  Joey  who  sat  next  to  her,  and 
seemed  to  have  taken  her  quite  under  her  protection, 
wondered  why  she  did  not  have  more  appetite. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  she,  nodding  her  head  in  her  queer 
way  which  set  every  curl  bobbing  up  and  down  ludi- 
crously. "  If  you've  a  mind,  I'll  ask  Bridget  for  some 
bread  and  molasses  for  you,  —  you're  a  new  girl,  and 
you'll  get  it.  I  like  mush  best." 

But  Marjorie  declined  the  offer,  and  went  back  into 
the  school-room  with  a  longing,  pining  sickness  of  the 
heart,  which  (if  that  lady  could  have  known  it)  would 
have  afforded  Mrs.  Marston  the  utmost  satisfaction,  as  it 
supported  her  theory  that  "  the  child  was  spoiled  by  the 
absurd  fuss  Regie  made  over  her." 

The  afternoon  passed  very  much  as  the  morning  had 
done  in  the  school-room.  Marjorie  wrote  two  more  lines 
in  her  copy-book,  and  was  praised  for  her  painstaking, 
and  she  also  read  a  little,  and  received  her  first  lesson  in 
arithmetic.  Just  before  tea,  as  she  stood  looking  out  of 


72  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

the  school-room  window,  the  tidy  servant  whom  she  had 
seen  on  her  arrival  came  behind  her  and  tapped  her 
shoulder. 

"  I  say,"  said  she.  "  There 's  a  boy  out  in  the  hall  by 
the  door  to  see  you.  Miss  Brooks  said  I  could  fetch  you, 
but  you  mustn't  be  long,  for  tea  's  ready." 

Wondering  very  much  who  her  visitor  could  be,  Mar- 
jorie  followed  Mary,  and  there,  in  the  porch  twisting  his 
cap,  and  looking  very  blushing  and  merry,  stood  Regie  ! 

"  Couldn't  help  it,  Madge,"  said  he.  "  It 's  against 
rules  to  come  so  soon,  but  I  found  some  of  Betsey's  crullers, 
fresh  ones,  at  granny's,  and  I  just  tore  up  here  to  bring 
you  some.  Miss  Brooks  said  I  might  —  this  once  !  "  and 
he  stuffed  a  fat  paper  parcel  in  her  apron,  gave  her  a 
regular  bear's  hug,  and  banged  out  of  the  door  before 
Marjorie  could  ask  a  question,  or  even  say  "  Thank  you." 

She  went  back  to  the  school-room  window  with  a 
warm,  grateful  feeling  for  something  more  than  the  crul- 
lers, however.  Then  she  beckoned  to  Joey,  and  gave  two 
of  the  cakes  to  her,  and  three  to  Willy  Blanc  ("  one 
more  because  he  's  lame  you  know,"  she  explained  to 
Joey)  ;  and  then  consulted  her  new  friend  as  to  the  best 
place  to  keep  the  remainder. 

"  We  don't  have  any  places  'cept  our  desks,"  said  Joey ; 
"  but  I'll  tell  you  what  — we'll  ask  Miss  Hannah.  P'raps 
she'll  put  'em  away  till  recess  to-morrow  ;  why,  Marjorie, 
you've  only  eaten  one  and  a  half." 

"  But  I  saw  Regie,"  stammered  Marjorie  with  the 
shyness  she  always  experienced  in  telling  her  thoughts. 
"  That  was  just  as  good  as  two  crullers,  every  bit  —  and 
better !  " 

"  You  are  a  queer  girl,"  was  Joey's  reply.  "  Come, 
we'll  ask  Miss  Hannah  right  off ;  the  bell  '11  ring  in  about 
one  second." 


A  NEW  HOME.  73 

Miss  Hannah  smiled  at  Joey's  request,  and  when  Mar- 
jorie  plucked  up  courage  enough  to  ask  her  teacher  to 
take  one  of  the  cakes,  she  broke  off  a  piece,  and  said  it 
was  very  nice,  and  asked  who  made  it.  Marjorie  told 
her,  and  Miss  Hannah  said  that  anything  which  came 
from  Mrs.  Livingston's  was  sure  to  be  good,  and  then 
took  Marjorie  to  supper. 

But  the  sad,  lonely  feeling  which  had  been  charmed 
away  by  Regie's  little  kindness,  returned  in  full  force 
when  Marjorie  went  to  bed.  The  dormitories,  and  their 
many  beds,  the  clatter  of  voices  as  the  children  were 
undressed,  all  combined  to  render  her  homesick.  Poor 
Marjorie  felt  as  if  she  could  not  say  her  "  prayer,"  and 
she  missed  Seraphina  very  much,  for  she  always  carried 
her  doll  to  bed  as  regularly  as  she  went  herself.  Her  bed 
was  next  to  Joey's,  but,  unfortunately,  Maggie  Gorman 
was  on  the  other  side,  and  when  she  saw  tears  begin  to 
steal  down  Marjorie's  face,  she  called  her  "  a  great  baby," 
and  asked  in  a  mocking  voice  if  she  wanted  Miss  Brooks 
to  come  and  "  cuddle  her."  Marjorie  hadn't  the  faintest 
notion  what  that  was,  but  she  turned  away  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  pillow,  and  tried  to  lie  very  still  while  Joey 
defended  her  and  made  saucy  answers  to  her  assailant. 
The  combatants  were  obliged  to  retort  in  whispers,  lest 
their  teacher  should  hear  them,  and  after  a  few  spicy 
rounds  the  two  voices  sank  away  in  sleepy  murmurs,  and 
tlie  girls  fell  asleep.  Not  so  little  Marjorie  ;  her  sobs 
caased  after  a  time,  but  she  lay  there  gazing  in  the  dark 
with  wide  open  eyes,  thinking  sorrowfully.  Presently 
she  found  that  by  lying  very  far  over  on  her  pillow  she 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sky  through  the  window, 
near  the  door.  The  night  was  clear  and  the  stars  shone 
with  the  brilliancy  which  is  often  seen  on  a  winter's  night, 


74  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

and  as  she  looked  up,  Marjorie  thought  of  Regie's  stories 
about  them,  and  was  quieted. 

Miss  Brooks,  coming  in  to  inspect  the  dormitory,  with 
a  candle  in  her  hand,  saw  the  pathetic  gray  eyes  turn 
toward  her,  and  walking  softly  to  the  bed  noticed  the 
tears  on  their  long  lashes. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  said  she  in  a  kind  whisper, 
tucking  the  quilt  a  little  closer. 

"Nothing,  ma'am  —  only" —  a  sob  treading  on  the 
last  word,  "  Seraphina  is  such  a  comfort  to  me,  and  I'm 
'fraid  she'll  be  cold  down  in  your  drawer." 

Miss  Brooks  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
"  Well,"  said  she,  "  children  are  just  as  odd  as  grown 
folks,  for  all  I  see.  Some  are  satisfied  if  you'll  only  give 
'em  enough  to  eat  and  drink  —  take  care  of  their  bodies  ; 
the  other  sort  want  dolls —  and  hearts.  Marjorie,"  with 
sudden  recollection  of  the  grave  eyes  regarding  her  curi- 
ously, "  if  I  send  Seraphina  up  to  you  and  let  you  have 
her  to  sleep  with  you  at  night,  will  you  promise  to  bring 
her  to  me  before  breakfast  every  day,  and  not  ask  for  her 
in  the  day-time  ?  If  you'll  be  a  very  good  girl  I  will  let 
you  do  so." 

"  O,  ma'am,  won't  I  ? "  cried  Marjorie,  sitting  up, 
and  stretching  out  both  hands  in  her  extreme  surprise 
and  delight  at  having  her  beloved  companion  restored  to 
her. 

Miss  Brooks  -smiled,  and  raised  her  finger  warningly. 

"  There  !  you'll  wake  up  the  children.  Good-night," 
and  the  kind  woman  kissed  her  and  walked  away. 

In  a  few  minutes  Mary  brought  the  doll  up-stairs,  and 
having  whispered  all  her  joy  at  seeing  her,  into  Sera- 
phina's  patient  ears,  Marjorie  curled  down  in  bed  snugly, 
and  forgot  her  troubles  in  dream-land. 


MRS.   MARSTON   ASSISTS   FATE.  75 

CHAPTER  VII. 

MRS.  MARSTON  ASSISTS  FATE. 

windows  were  thrown  open  in  Mrs.  Marston's 
-•-  elegant  little  boudoir,  and  the  soft  May  breeze  came 
stealing  in,  laden  with  the  breath  of  flowers  and  the  song 
of  birds.  Lying  back  in  her  easy-chair  sat  a  lady,  with 
a  fair,  faded  face,  and  an  expression  rather  peevish  and 
discontented  as  she  talked  on  in  a  voice  which  would 
have  been  pleasant,  but  for  its  fretful  tone.  She  was 
very  handsomely  dressed ;  the  folds  of  her  purple  silk  lay 
in  a  rich  mass  on  the  floor,  beautiful  bracelets  clasped 
her  slender  wrists,  and  her  hands  sparkled  with  valuable 
rings. 

"  You  see  it 's  very  hard  for  me,  Helen,"  said  she ;  "  Mr. 
Wylder  does  nothing  but  find  fault  with  Horace  from 
morning  until  night,  though  I'm  sure  the  poor  boy  acts 
no  worse  than  most  boys.  All  boys  are  cubs,"  with  a 
touch  of  irritation,  "  and  Horace  has  grown  beyond  me, 
long  ago." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Marston,  in  a  prudently  question- 
ing tone,  and  remembering  that  during  her  late  visit  at 
Mrs.  Wylder's  she  had  endured  martyrdom  in  various 
forms  from  the  overgrown,  spoiled  lad  of  sixteen,  who 
twisted  his  easy-going  mother  around  his  finger,  and 
obeyed  no  one. 

"  It  was  such  a  dreadful  thing  that  I  lost  my  little 
girl,"  resumed  Mrs.  Wylder.  "  She  would  have  been 
about  ten  years  old  now,  and  such  a  companion  for  me. 
I  have  always  wanted  a  little  girl  to  dress  and  pet,  and 


76  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Mr.  Wylder  is  forever  talking  about  our  poor  lost  Evelyn. 
I  have  thought  I  would  adopt  a  child  if  I  could  find  one 
without  incumbrances.  If  one  sees  a  really  nice,  well- 
behaved,  pretty  little  girl,  in  circumstances  where  an 
offer  of  adoption  might  be  accepted,  there  is  always  some 
horrid  mother  or  father  whose  feelings  have  to  be  con- 
sidered, —  and  so  on  !  I  did  start  some  negotiations  once 
with  a  Scotch  woman  in  New  York  (the  child  was  a  dear 
little  thing,  with  lovely  gray  eyes,  —  the  only  color  I  ad- 
mire at  all)  ;  but  the  mother  wanted  to  come  and  see  her 
every  Saturday  night,  and,  dear  me,  I  could  not  have 
endured  that,  you  know."  Mrs.  Wylder  leaned  further 
back  in  her  chair,  and  applied  her  jeweled  vinaigrette 
to  her  patrician  nose.  That  the  Scotch  woman  in  ques- 
tion might  have  been  influenced  by  love  for  her  child  in 
making  the  demand,  never  entered  Mrs.  Wylder's  calcu- 
lations. 

"  How  would  Mr.  Wylder  fancy  your  adopting  a 
child?  "  asked  Mrs.  Marston. 

"  Be  delighted,  my  dear.  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  was 
always  sighing  and  complaining  because  Horace  is  a  boy  ? 
Indeed,  Mr.  Wylder  is  always  very  good  to  me  ;  he  never 
stints  me  as  to  money,  and,  for  a  man,  I  must  do  him  the 
justice  to  say  that  he  makes  great  allowance  for  my  weak 
nerves  and  takes  all  the  burden  of  housekeeping  off  my 
shoulders.  You  look  as  if  you  had  an  idea  for  me," 
catching  Mrs.  Marston's  eye.  "  Do  you  know  of  any 
child  whom  you  think  might  suit  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Marston. 

"  Why,  Helen !  "  with  more  animation  than  she  had 
yet  displayed,  "  you  don't  mean  it  ?  Anybody  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  remember  hearing  Lily  allude  to 
a  little  girl  called  Marjorie,  who  was  at  Meta  Livingston's 


MRS.    MARSTON  ASSISTS  FATE.  77 

yesterday  afternoon  ?  She  is  a  child  whom  my  brother, 
Judge  Gray,  picked  up,  with  his  usual  benevolence,  and  I 
believe  she  has  not  a  tie  in  the  world.  Old  Mrs.  Living- 
ston got  admittance  at  the  orphan  asylum  for  her  last 
winter,  and  all  the  family  take  the  greatest  possible  in- 
terest in  her.  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  the  child, 
Louise,  to  be  in  your  family." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder,  looking  pleased. 
"  How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"  About  nine  or  ten  ;  it 's  rather  difficult  to  determine 
her  age,  for  she  is  remarkably  old  in  some  things." 

"  Just  the  very  age.  O,  Helen,  I  must  see  her.  I 
quite  love  her  already,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder,  enthusiast- 
ically. "  Do  you  think  Judge  Gray  would  consent  if  I 
implored  him  to  let  me  have  her  ?  And  dear  old  Mrs. 
Livingston,  —  1  suppose  one  would  have  to  obtain  her 
consent  ?  " 

"  Her  concurrence,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  se- 
cretly elated  to  find  that  her  seed  had  taken  root,  and 
knowing  well  that  when  an  idea  was  firmly  fixed  in  Mrs. 
Wylder's  head  it  became  a  whim  at  very  short  notice. 
"  But  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  for  you  to  say  nothing 
of  your  plan  just  yet,  until  you  have  seen  Marjorie,  and 
I  can  speak  to  my  brother.  For  (it 's  so  ridiculous,  my 
dear,  that  I  know  you  will  laugh)  Reginald  is  quite  be- 
witched with  this  child,  and  I  am  afraid  that  he  would 
strongly  oppose  her  leaving  here,  even  if  it  was  to  go  to 
your  delightful  home." 

"  How  old  is  Reginald  Gray  ?  "  asked  her  friend,  with 
a  sly  smile,  and  perceiving,  with  all  her  silliness,  that 
Mrs.  Marston  had  some  ulterior  motive. 

"  Only  sixteen,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  carelessly.  "  Just 
Horace's  age,  but  a  very  hot-headed,  impetuous  boy. 


78  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

And  James  and  his  grandma  indulge  him  in  this  whim ; 
and  really  I  do  not  believe  there  has  been  a  single  Sat- 
urday since  Marjorie  went  to  the  asylum  which  she  has 
not  spent  at  my  brother's.  With  you,  Louise,  a  desire 
to  adopt  a  child  is  quite  a  different  matter,  and  on  many 
accounts,  I  would  advise  you  to  do  so,  but  one  cannot 
be  too  careful  with  a  boy  like  Reginald.  Fancies  are  so 
apt  to  cling  to  a  warm,  impassioned  nature  like  his ;  and 
although  this  child  is  a  very  nice  child  —  a  remarkably 
nice  child,"  —  added  she,  with  a  slight  qualm  of  con- 
science as  she  remembered  Marjorie's  behavior  to  Lily  at 
the  Christmas  tree,  "  still,  you  know,  it  would  be  dread- 
ful to  have  anything  follow  this  childish  fondness  —  you 
understand  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wylder  gave  her  an  odd,  upward  glance. 

"  You  are  a  wise  woman,  Helen  ;  I  wish  I  had  such 
far-seeing  tact.  When  will  it  be  advisable  for  me  to  see 
the  little  girl  ? 

"  I  think  I  will  consult  grandma,  first,"  said  Mrs.  Mars- 
ton.  "  I  can  call  there  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  will  try 
to  see  James  directly  afterward.  And  now,  what  are  you 
going  to  wear  at  Mrs.  Clay's  dinner  to-night  ?" 

Dress,  and  all  its  appurtenances,  was  dear  to  the  soul 
of  Mrs.  Wylder,  so  she  plunged  eagerly  into  the  topic,  and 
before  the  day  was  over  had  almost  forgotten  that  she 
knew  the  real  reason  of  Mrs.  Marston's  philanthropic  de- 
sire to  settle  Marjorie  in  a  luxurious  home. 

Take  it  altogether,  Marjorie  was  very  well  contented 
with  her  home  at  the  asylum.  Of  course,  she  missed  the 
luxuries  of  Judge  Gray's  home,  and  oftentimes  she  pined 
for  Regie  with  strange  persistency  in  so  young  a  child, 
but  she  saw  him  frequently,  and  good  Miss  Brooks  allowed 
her  to  go  there  and  spend  Saturday  afternoons.  The 


MRS.  MARSTON  ASSISTS  FATE.  79 

brightness  of  those  days  lasted  Marjorie  through  the 
whole  week,  and  the  things  she  saw  and  did  while  outside 
the  asylum  walls  were  a  constant  fund  of  enjoyment  to 
Joey  and  Willy  Blanc.  Indeed,  Marjorie  had  done  what 
she  could  to  interest  Meta  and  Regie  in  her  little  friends, 
and  Joey  had  been  made  happy  by  a  new  frock,  made  by 
Meta's  own  hands,  while  many  a  delicate  bit  of  cake,  or 
fruit,  found  their  way  into  Marjorie's  pocket  as  a  gift  for 
Willy,  from  Regie. 

For  more  than  a  week  past,  Regie,  who  was  usually 
the  embodiment  of  rosy,  perfect  health,  had  been  feeling 
strangely  languid  and  unlike  himself.  His  head  troubled 
him  a  great  deal ;  sometimes  he  would  have  what  he 
styled  "  a  splitting  headache,"  and  again,  dizzy  turns, 
when  the  Greek  characters  in  the  book  before  him  would 
dance  a  curious  waltz  together,  and  the  English  words 
bob  up  and  down  in  a  tipsy  way  which  discomfited  him 
sadly.  Judge  Gray  was  away  upon  Circuit,  and  Miss 
Rachel  was  so  unaccustomed  to  watching  the  boy  that  she 
never  noticed  his  paleness,  or  the  deep  lines  under  his 
eyes.  Grandma  did,  however,  and  said  to  him  uneasily 
one  day,  — 

"  Regie,  you  ought  to  have  a  spring  tonic  ;  you  don't 
look  like  yourself." 

"  Don't  I,  granny  ?  "  said  he,  with  his  old,  merry  smile. 
"  My  head  bothers  me,  that 's  all.  We've  had  some 
plaguy  hard  Greek  lately  ;  I'll  be  all  right  when  vacation 
comes." 

"  You  had  better  stop  and  see  Dr.  Gibbs  to-inorrow," 
said  grandma,  with  a  troubled  face.  Regie  promised,  but 
a  game  of  cricket  came  up  unexpectedly  the  next  day, 
and  he  was  so  engrossed  with  that  that  he  forgot  all  about 
the  doctor.  And  getting  violently  heated  at  cricket,  and 


80  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

walking  home  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  did  not  improve  matters, 
as  he  found  to  his  cost. 

On  the  Saturday  which  Mrs.  Marston  had  alluded  to, 
Meta  had  sent  for  Marjorie  to  spend  the  afternoon  with 
her,  and  Regie,  bsing  detained  with  his  game  of  cricket, 
did  not  arrive  at  his  uncle's  until  a  much  later  hour  than 
usual.  Lily  Marston  had  come  in  to  call  during  the  after- 
noon, and  Meta  had  invited  her  to  remain  to  tea.  Lily, 
rather  to  Meta's  surprise,  had  accepted  the  invitation, 
and  Regie  was  not  overpleased  when  he  came  in  and 
found  her  perched  up  on  the  window-seat,  arrayed  in  a 
sweeping  silk  dress  belonging  to  Meta's  mamma,  and  in 
which  she  had  been  playing  at  charades  with  the  others. 

"  What  upon  earth  did  you  ask  her  for,  Meta  ?  "  de- 
manded he,  in  an  irritated  tone  that  was  very  unusual 
with  him.  "  A  regular  old  spoil-sport,  beside,  she  always 
tries  to  snub  Marjorie." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Regie ;  mamma  told  me  to.  She  's 
been  very  pleasant  this  afternoon,  and  I  let  her  have  all 
the  fine  lady  parts  in  our  charade."  Regie  laughed. 

"That's  just  like  you  —  always  smoothing  people 
down.  I'm  afraid  I  was  rude  just  now,  Meta,  but  Lily 
and  I  don't  '  gee,'  somehow.  Well,  I'll  carry  Madge  off 
for  the  story  I  promised  her  after  tea. 

Regie  kept  his  word,  but  when  he  brought  Marjorie's 
chair  out  on  the  balcony,  and  a  low  stool  for  himself,  his 
head  ached  so  intolerably  that  he  leaned  forward  against 
the  railing,  and  let  Marjorie  chatter  on  about  the  events  of 
the  past  week  at  the  asylum  without  saying  more  than  a 
word  or  two  himself. 

"Why,  Regie,  is  anything  the  matter?"  asked  Mar- 
jorie, at  last,  noticing  his  unwonted  silence. 

"  My  head  aches  confoundedly,"    said  he,  raising   it 


MRS.   MARSTON  ASSISTS  FATE.  81 

from  his  folded  arms.  "  And  all  sorts  of  queer  black 
things  dance  up  and  down  before  my  eyes.  I  guess  I 
have  to  take  a  dose  of  aunt  Rachel's  physic,  —  ugh ! 
Thank  goodness  papa  will  be  home  to-night." 

"  O,  dear !  You  don't  believe  you're  going  to  be 
sick  ?  "  asked  Marjorie  with  a  frightened  face. 

"  Nonsense,  Madge.  I  never  was  sick  in  my  life. 
That  feels  good,"  as  she  climbed  up  on  his  lap  and  put  her 
cool  little  hand  on  his  forehead.  "  How  hot  my  head  is  ! 
But  I  don't  feel  very  warm  anywhere  else,"  as  a  shiver 
shook  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You'd  better  come  right  into  the  house,  and  leave 
the  story  till  next  Saturday,"  said  Marjorie,  decidedly, 
and  wondering  what  ailed  him. 

"  I  don't  know  but  you're  right,"  said  he,  rising  unwill- 
ingly. "  Don't  say  a  word  to  aunty  or  Meta.  I'll  go 
and  play." 

Marjorie  sat  by  him  listening  and  applauding  as  usual, 
but  he  only  played  a  short  time,  ending  with  her  favor- 
ite, the  "  Prayer." 

"  I'm  going  to  take  Marjorie  back  to  the  asylum,  Aunt 
Mary,"  said  he,  leaving  the  piano  rather  abruptly.  "  And 
you  must  excuse  me  from  coming  back  to  finish  the  even- 
ing. Papa  is  coining  home  and  I  know  he  will  want  me." 

So  Marjorie  was  kissed  good-night,  and  had  her  pocket 
filled  with  the  usual  dainties  for  Willy,  Joey,  and  herself, 
and  then  she  trotted  off,  her  hand  in  Regie's.  It  was 
one  of  their  favorite,  moonlight  nights,  and  they  went 
slowly ;  Regie's  head  seemed  better  for  a  little  while. 
But  when  they  said  good-night  in  the  porch,  after  Regie 
had  rung  the  bell,  some  impulse,  for  which  he  could  never 
afterwards  account,  made  him  lift  the  slender  figure  in 
his  arms  and  say,  with  a  loving  kiss  and  unusual  earnest- 

6 


82  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ness,  "  Good-night,  Madge,  darling.  As  papa  says, '  Don't 
remember  to  forget '  your  old  Rex." 

Mary  opened  the  door  before  the  confused  child  could 
answer,  and  drawing  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  Regie  dashed 
off  down  the  moonlit  hill. 

When  he  reached  his  home  he  found  that  his  father  had 
telegraphed  that  he  would  not  return  until  the  last  train, 
and  Miss  Rachel  had  gone  to  her  room  with  a  nervous 
attack,  so  Regie  stationed  himself  in  the  library,  and  tried 
to  amuse  himself  with  a  story  in  one  of  the  magazines. 
But  it  only  made  him  more  and  more  giddy,  and  he 
finally  threw  himself  down  on  the  sofa  and  slept  a  light, 
fitful  slumber,  until  his  father's  latch-key  sounded  in  the 
door. 

"  Is  that  you,  papa  ?  "  cried  he,  springing  up  suddenly, 
and  as  Judge  Gray  entered,  he  gave  a  staggering  step 
toward  him,  felt  a  curious  sensation  as  if  something 
snapped  in  his  head,  and  lost  all  consciousness  as  his 
father's  arm  caught  him. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  lying  on  his  own 
bed,  and  his  father  was  bathing  his  forehead. 

"  What  's  the  matter  with  me  ?  "  said  he,  faintly. 
"  Am  I  going  to  be  ill  ?  Don't  you  let  them  cut  off  all 
my  hair,  papa.  If  you  do  it  will  never  curl  again,  like 
yours  ;  that 's  what  the  man  in  the  moon  told  Marjorie 
and  me  when  we  went  to  call  on  him  last  night."  And 
he  slipped  off  into  another  fainting  fit. 

When  morning  came,  it  found  Regie  in  a  burning 
fever.  The  doctor  looked  very  grave  as  he  questioned 
Miss  Rachel,  and  shook  his  gray  head  when  he  heard 
of  the  cricket  match  the  day  before. 

"It  may  be  a  case  of  brain  fever," said  he,  in  an- 
swer to  Judge  Gray's  question.  "But  I  am  inclined 


MRS.    MARSTON   ASSISTS   FATE.  83 

to  think  it  typhoid.  We  can  tell  in  twenty-four  hours. 
There  are  a  good  many  cases  of  it  about  this  spring." 
He  did  not  add  (although  he  thought  it)  that  the  pre- 
vailing type  was  a  dangerous  one,  but  gave  his  prescrip- 
tions for  the  morning  and  went  away,  promising  to  look 
in  at  night  again. 

That  same  day,  Mrs.  Marston  drove  down  to  see  grand- 
ma, to  lay  before  her  the  proposed  adoption  of  Marjorie 
by  Mrs.  Wylder.  Grandma  listened  to  the  plan,  and  it 
struck  her  very  favorably. 

"  It  will  be  an  excellent  opportunity  for  the  child,"  said 
she,  "  provided  your  friend  does  not  grow  weary  of  her 
new  idea.  I  should  not  like  to  have  Marjorie  returned  to 
us  after  a  few  months ;  it  would  be  so  bad  for  the  little 
thing  to  be  hawked  about  in  that  way." 

"  I  think  that  Louise,  though  rather  silly,  is  a  very 
kind-hearted  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  with  candor. 
"And  there  is  one  thing  quite  certain :  if  Marjorie  pleases 
Mr.  Wylder  she  will  remain  with  them  all  her  life. 
He  is  '  the  power  behind  the  throne,'  and  I  know  he  has 
never  ceased  to  lament  the  loss  of  their  little  girl,  the 
only  one  they  ever  had.  Louise  will  make  a  great  pet 
of  her"  —  she  paused,  afraid  lest  the  idea  of  spoiling  by 
over-indulgence  might  prove  a  point  against  her. 

"  Well,"  said  grandma,  "  you  had  better  take  Mrs. 
Wylder  up  to  the  asylum  and  let  her  see  Marjorie.  I 
will  talk  to  your  brother  about  it,  but  now  that  Regie  is 
ill  I  am  afraid  he  will  not  have  much  time  to  attend  to 
the  matter." 

"  Regie  ill  ?  "  echoed  Mrs.  Marston.  "  Of  what,  pray  ? 
I  thought  the  boy  never  was  sick." 

"  I  am  going  over  by  and  by,"  said  grandma,  very 
uneasily.  "  I  had  a  note  from  Rachel  this  morning.  I 


84  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

have  been  worried  about  that  boy  for  two  weeks ;  he 
hasn't  looked  well,  and  I  begged  him  to  go  to  the  doc- 
tor's." 

"  Don't  worry  about  him,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  kindly. 
u  I  will  stop  there  myself  on  the  way  home." 

She  did  so,  and  found  her  brother  looking  somewhat 
grave  and  preoccupied.  Mrs.  Marston  talked  encourag- 
ingly of  Regie's  fine  health  and  constitution,  and  then  in- 
troduced her  plan  for  Marjorie  very  adroitly,  apropos  to 
Regie's  fondness  for  his  protege*.  Judge  Gray  looked  a 
little  doubtful ;  he  had  known  Mrs.  Wylder  when  she 
was  Louise  Catlin,  and  he  was  a  little  skeptical  about 
the  wisdom  of  intrusting  a  child  to  her  to  be  reared.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  knew  her  to  be  an  amiably  disposed 
woman,  and  he  did  not  doubt  that  Marjorie  would  enjoy 
a  luxurious  home ;  —  but  was  luxury  always  the  best 
atmosphere  for  a  little  innocent  soul  ?  Mrs.  Marston,  with 
her  usual  penetration,  read  a  good  deal  of  this  in  his 
speaking  face. 

"  I  think  it  is  quite  a  lucky  opening,"  said  she.  "  To 
be  sure  Louise  is  not  overburdened  with  brains,  but  Mr. 
Wylder  represents  the  common-sense  of  that  family."  . 

"  Very  true,  Helen.  Yes,  I  think  you  may  be  right. 
Wylder  is  a  man  in  whose  firmness  and  integrity  I  have 
great  confidence.  I'll  think  about  it.  I  wonder  what 
Rex  would  say?  "  and  a  shade  came  over  the  father's 
face  as  he  thought  of  his  boy  lying  ill  in  the  room  above. 

"  We  could  all  see  her  pretty  often,"  Mrs.  Marston 
hastened  to  say,  declining  to  discuss  Regie's  opinion  of  her 
plan.  "  You  run  down  to  New  York  so  frequently,  and 
Regie  often  accompanies  you.  I'll  not  detain  you  now, 
James,"  for  the  Judge  made  a  motion  to  rise  as  he  heard 
footsteps  overhead  ;  "  let  me  know  to-morrow  how  Regie 
is." 


MRS.    MARSTON   ASSISTS   FATE.  85 

Mrs.  Marston  went  home  in  high  spirits.  She  had 
been  more  successful  than  she  had  dared  to  hope,  and 
felt  pretty  certain  that  her  point  was  gained.  But  it 
would  certainly  be  wise  to  hasten  the  affair  as  much  as 
possible,  as  there  was  no  telling  what  adverse  influence 
Regie  might  exert  when  he  recovered.  Mrs.  Wylder  had 
received  a  letter  from  her  husband  containing  cards  for 
two  large  parties  in  New  York  the  following  week,  and 
she  immediately  announced  that  she  must  return  for 
them. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  it  would  take  that  child  to 
get  ready  to  go  with  me  ?  "  asked  she  that  evening  while 
discussing  her  departure. 

"  Not  more  than  twenty-four  hours,"  said  Mrs.  Mars- 
ton.  u  I  was  very  successful  to-day,  Louise.  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston was  delighted,  and  James  thought  it  an  excellent 
opportunity." 

"  I  am  enchanted  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Wylder.  "  Then  you 
will  take  me  to  see  the  dear  little  girl  to-morrow  !  I  long 
for  her  —  ah !  if  by  any  chance  she  should  have  gray 
eyes." 

Marjorie  was  busy  with  her  copy-book  the  next  day, 
not  dreaming  of  the  turn  that  Fortune's  wheel  was  taking 
for  her,  when  Mary  made  her  appearance  in  the  school- 
room, and  after  a  moment's  whispering  to  Miss  Hannah, 
she  came  over  to  Marjorie's  desk,  — 

"  Miss  Brooks  wants  ye,"  said  she.  "  And,  av  ye 
plase,  I'm  to  take  ye  up-stairs  an'  wash  ye,  and  put  on  a 
clane  apron." 

"  I'm  not  dirty,"  said  Marjorie,  rather  bewildered  at 
this  message. 

"  It 's  to  see  somebody,"  whispered  Joey,  nodding  her 
head  and  looking  wise.  "  Perhaps  it 's  Miss  Meta." 


86  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Thin  ye  are  out  there,"  said  Mary,  nodding  back  at 
her,  as  she  walked  Marjorie  off.  "  It 's  a  strange  lady, 
the  loike  of  which  I  niver  saw,  wid  silks  and  velvets  and 
jewelry." 

Mary  was  in  such  haste  that  she  scrubbed  Marjorie's 
face  with  very  unnecessary  vigor,  and  twitched  her  hair 
up  and  her  chin  down  when  she  tied  on  the  clean  apron, 
but,  notwithstanding,  it  was  a  very  sweet,  lovely  looking 
child  who  entered  Miss  Brooks's  room  a  few  minutes  later. 

"  Marjorie,"  said  the  matron,  kindly,  "  this  is  a  lady 
from  New  York  whom  Mrs.  Livingston  wanted  you  to 
see.  Go  and  shake  hands  with  her,  my  dear." 

Thus  admonished,  Marjorie  advanced,  with  crimsoning 
cheeks,  and  ventured  to  put  the  tips  of  her  fingers  in  the 
pearl-colored  kid  extended  to  her. 

"  The  dear  little  unsophisticated  soul ! "  cried  Mrs. 
"Wylder.  "  Marjorie,  you  have  just  the  same  colored 
hair  that  my  little  girl  had." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  How  do  you  like  me  ?  Just  look  at  me,  dear  ;  raise 
your  timid  little  eyes,  love,  and  see  if  I  don't  look  as  if  I 
could  be  a  mother  to  you." 

Marjorie  gave  her  a  startled  glance.  "  My  mother  is 
dead,"  she  said,  slowly  raising  her  beautiful  eyes  to  the 
lady's  face. 

"  I  know  that.  How  would  you  like  to  come  to  New 
York  with  me?  I  live  in  a  large  house,  and  you  shall 
have  plenty  of  dolls  and  playthings,  and  go  riding  with 
me  in  my  carriage  every  day." 

Marjorie's  eyes  turned  toward  Miss  Brooks  for  ex- 
planation. 

"  Mrs.  Wylder  means  that  she  wants  to  adopt  you," 
said  the  matron,  bluntly.  "  That  is,  to  bring  you  up  as 
her  little  girl,  in  the  place  of  one  she  lost." 


MRS.   MARSTON  ASSISTS   FATE.  87 

"  Go  away  from  here  ?  Is  it  a  nice  place  ?  "  asked 
Marjorie,  looking  less  timidly  at  her  new  patroness. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Brooks.  Evidently,  the  plain-spoken 
matron  did  not  admire  the  gushing  manner  of  her  visitor. 

"  Just  as  nice  a  place  as  you  can  think  of,"  pursued 
Mrs.  Wylder,  kissing  Marjorie's  cheek.  .  "  It 's  a  very 
much  larger  city  than  this.  My  house  is  like — well! 
something  like  Judge  Gray's."  She  did  not  like  to  add 
that  it  was,  in  her  estimation,  much  finer. 

"  Judge  Gray's,"  said  Marjorie,  her  face  growing  sober 
again.  "  O,  I  can't  go  away  unless  he  says  so.  I  be- 
long to  him  ;  he  found  me." 

"  Well,  Judge  Gray  thinks  my  house  would  be  the 
very  place  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder,  eagerly.  Having 
set  her  heart  upon  carrying  Marjorie  home  with  her  as  a 
pleasant  surprise  for  her  husband,  she  did  not  mean  to  be 
balked  in  her  plan.  "  You  see,  I  shall  love  you  and  pet 
you  as  if  you  were  my  own  ;  do  you  not  understand  ?  " 

But  Marjorie's  face  fell.  "  And  Meta,  O  —  and 
Regie,"  —  a  sob  choked  her  voice.  "  Ma'am,  I  don't 
think  I  can  go." 

"  You  shall  have  Meta  (isn't  that  Mrs.  Livingston's 
little  granddaughter  ?)  to  visit  you,  and  Regie  too.  And 
Judge  Gray  often  holds  court  in  New  York,  and  he  will 
bring  his  son  with  him.  Won't  you  come,  Marjorie?" 
growing  plaintive  ;  "  I  am  very  lonesome,  and  I  haven't 
any  little  girl,  you  know." 

This  appeal  did  more  for  her  cause  than  any  of  her 
coaxing  had  done.  It  went  straight  to  Marjorie's  warm, 
loving  heart,  and,  of  her  own  free  will,  she  raised  her 
face  to  the  fair,  flushed  one  beside  her  and  kissed  Mrs. 
Wylder. 

"  I've  been  lonesome,  too,"  said  she.     "  But  I  have 


88  MABJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Serapliina  to  comfort  ine.  I  s'pose  you  want  me  just  the 
same  as  I  want  her  ?  " 

"  You  generally  do  hit  the  nail  square  on  the  head, 
Marjorie,"  said  Miss  Brooks,  laughing.  "  Seraphina  is 
her  doll,  Mrs.  Wylder.  I  hope  you'll  make  something 
better  than  a  doll  out  of  this  specimen.  She  isn't  cut 
after  the  same  pattern  as  most  of  'em,  I  can  tell  you.  I 
knew  I  shouldn't  have  her  long." 

Mrs.  Wylder  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  Miss 
Brooks.  Her  terse  sentences,  the  odd  glimmer  of  her 
eye,  and  the  keen  glances  she  gave  her,  savored  some- 
what of  disrespect,  she  thought,  so  she  clasped  Marjorie 
in  her  arms  and  demanded,  — 

"  It 's  all  settled  then  ?    You  will  come,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  curious  sigh.  "  That  is, 
if  Judge  Gray  says  so  —  and  Regie." 

Mrs.  Wylder  covered  her  face  with  kisses,  called  her 
"  a  dear  little  angel,"  and  brought  out  a  large  paper  of 
bonbons  from  her  pocket,  and  finally  slipped  a  very  pretty 
ring  with  a  little  sparkling  ruby  in  it  off  her  little  finger 
and  tried  it  on  Marjorie's  hand.  The  child  colored  with 
delight. 

"  Is  it  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  love  ;  it  fits  nicely.  I  am  so  glad  you  have  nice 
slender  hands  ;  quite  like  my  own.  And  your  feet,"  in- 
sisting upon  looking  at  them ;  "  when  you  have  a  nice, 
jaunty  kid  boot,  they  will  look  vexy  well.  Remember  me 
when  you  look  at  the  ring,  dear  ;  one  kiss  more  —  adieu  ! 
Miss  Brooks,  I  am  so  obliged,  so  indebted,  —  please  have 
her  ready  at  the  time  I  mentioned.  Good-morning,"  and 
off  floated  the  lady  in  a  state  of  beaming  satisfaction  with 
everybody.  Marjorie  watched  her  as  she  tripped  down 
the  steps  where  a  carriage  stood,  and  a  strange  feeling  of 


MRS.   MARSTON   ASSISTS   FATE.  89 

misgiving  filled  her  heart  as  she  recognized  the  equipage 
to  be  Mrs.  Marston's.  She  always  had  felt,  instinctively, 
that  that  lady  did  not  like  her,  and  she  turned  around  to 
Miss  Brooks  with  a  sudden  question. 

"  O,  do  you  believe  shell  be  good  to  me  ?  "  asked  she, 
trying  hard  not  to  cry. 

"  Good  ?  yes,"  said  Miss  Brooks,  who,  although  she 
had  her  own  private  opinion  of  Mrs.  Wylder's  silliness, 
did  not  doiibt  that  any  one  accredited  by  Mrs.  Livingston 
would  be  a  proper  person  to  take  Marjorie.  "  You  know 
what  this  asylum  is  for,  Marjorie  ?  We  keep  the  girls, 
teach  them  how  to  work,  sew,  read,  and  write,  and  then 
we  get  situations  for  them  —  sometimes  in  one  way, 
sometimes  in  another.  It  's  very  seldom  that  any  lady 
like  Mrs.  Wylder  cares  to  adopt  a  child ;  they  oftener 
take  them  to  bring  up  as  a  maid,  or  a  servant  of  some 
kind.  And  Mrs.  Wylder  means  to  be  very  liberal  to 
you."  But  Marjorie  shook  her  head. 

"  Somehow  it  seems  wrong  here,"  said  she,  laying  her 
hand  on  her  breast.  "  When  will  she  come  for  me  ?  " 

"  Next  Saturday."  Miss  Brooks  understood  the  char- 
acter of  the  child  before  her ;  it  was  far  better  to  tell  her 
the  whole  ;  she  would  become  reconciled  to  it  sooner. 

"'Sha'n't  I  see  Meta,  nor  Judge  Gray,  nor  Regie?" 
cried  she,  clasping  her  hands  convulsively. 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear.  I'm  not  a  heathen,  nor  they 
either.  Of  course  you'll  see  them ;  you  don't  think  Judge 
Gray  will  let  you  go  away  without  it  ?  " 

Actually,  Miss  Brooks  did  not  dare  to  add  the  news  of 
Regie's  illness,  which  Mrs.  Wylder  had  communicated  to 
her.  And  she  felt  so  sorry  for  the  child,  and  the  anxiety 
she  would  be  sure  to  suffer  on  Regie's  account,  that  she 
kept  her  in  her  room  until  tea-time,  and  gave  her  Sera- 
phina  and  a  Chinese  puzzle  to  play  with. 


90  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

The  next  day  brought  Meta  to  the  asylum.  She  told 
Miss  Brooks  that  Regie  was  very  ill ;  the  doctor  said  the 
fever  was  of  the  typhoid  form,  and  Judge  Gray  hardly 
left  his  son  day  or  night.  But,  laden  as  he  was  with  this 
weary  load  of  anxiety,  he  had  taken  the  pains  to  send  a 
note  to  Meta's  mamma,  asking  her  to  receive  Marjorie  in 
her  house  for  the  few  remaining  days  before  her  depart- 
ure for  New  York.  So  Meta  had  come  for  Marjorie,  and 
the  sober  little  face  brightened  wonderfully  when  the 
child  heard  the  plan.  But  when  Meta,  very  cautiously 
and  gradually,  told  her  of  Regie's  illness,  all  her  amazing 
self-control  gave  way,  and  her  little  frame  shook  with 
such  sobs  of  grief  that  Meta  was  frightened.  Miss  Brooks 
took  Marjorie  on  her  knee,  and  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"  There,  dear,"  said  the  good  matron,  feelingly  ;  "  he  's 
very  sick,  but  he  's  in  the  hands  of  a  good  God.  Many 
people  who  have  this  fever  get  well ;  don't  you  think 
Regie  would  be  sorry  to  see  you  cry  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Marjorie,  and  she  sat  up,  obediently,  and 
tried  to  stop  the  fast  flowing  tears. 

"  And  here  is  Meta,  and  you  are  to  go  and  stay  with 
her  until  you  go  to  New  York.  I  can  send  your  bundle  ; 
I  suppose  you  had  better  put  on  the  white  dress  that  Miss 
Gray  sent  you." 

Meta  said,  "  Yes,"  and  went  away  with  Marjorie  to 
change  her  dress,  and  comfort  her.  Miss  Brooks  met 
them  in  the  hall  as  they  came  down. 

"  Here  's  Joey  and  Willy  to  bid  you  good-by,"  said  she. 
"  I  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you,  my  child.  You  have 
been  good  and  obedient  ever  since  you  came  here.  God 
bless  you  !  "  and  she  kissed  Marjorie  with  hearty  feeling. 

Joey  cried,  and  Willy  rubbed  his  eyes  and  nose  quite 
red  in  his  efforts  to  keep  from  the  contagion  of  her  ex- 


MRS.   MARSTON  ASSISTS   FATE.  91 

ample,  while  Marjorie  promised  never  to  forget  them, 
never,  but  to  come  back  and  see  them  just  as  soon  as  ever 
she  could.  And  then  she  went  down  the  steps  with 
Meta,  and  looked  back  to  see  Miss  Brooks,  Joey,  and 
Willy  standing  in  the  door,  waving  their  handkerchiefs 
to  her  with  all  their  might. 

Mrs.  Edmund  Livingston  did  all  in  her  power  to  give 
Marjorie  pleasure  during  her  short  stay  with  Meta.  But 
the  child's  smiles  were  rare ;  she  fretted  night  and  day 
about  Regie.  It  was  quite  useless  to  try  to  keep  the  daily 
bulletins  about  him  from  her.  She  watched  the  door, 
she  waylaid  the  servants,  and  she  drooped,  poor  child  !  as 
if  touched  by  the  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow.  But  the 
night  before  she  was  to  start  for  New  Yorkr  she  was  sit- 
ting, as  usual,  in  the  parlor  window  which  overlooked  the 
front  door,  when  she  saw  Judge  Gray's  well-known  figure 
coming  up  the  steps. 

"  It  's  your  uncle  !  "  cried  she  to  Meta,  with  a  scream 
of  joy.  "  O,  I  know  Regie  must  be  better."  And  she 
flew  into  the  hall,  and  had  her  arms  about  the  Judge's 
neck  before  Meta  herself. 

"  Why,  Marjorie  !  "  The  round,  clear  voice  was  full 
of  tenderness.  "  And  my  little  Meta,  too !  Did  you 
think  that  you  were  going  off  with  Mrs.  Wylder  without 
my  seeing  you,  Margie  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Marjorie,  keeping  tight  hold  of  his 
hand  as  they  walked  into  the  parlor.  "  How  is  Regie  ?  " 

A  shadow  passed  over  his  handsome  face.  "  We  hope 
a  trifle  better.  The  fever  has  not  yet  come  to  its  crisis." 

Marjorie  startled  them  all.  She  put  her  hands  over 
her  face,  and  gave  a  moan  as  if  her  heart  was  breaking. 

"  I  can't  go  —  I  sha'n't  go  !  "  she  cried,  with  wild,  sud- 
den passion ;  "  O,  don't  make  me,  sir.  Indeed,  I  shall 
die  if  I  don't  hear  about  him,  regular." 


92  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

The  soft  hazel  eyes  regarding  her  filled  with  tears. 
Judge  Gray's  lips  trembled  so  much  that,  for  a  moment, 
he  could  not  speak.  Then  he  lifted  her  upon  his  knee. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,  you  shall  hear,  I  promise  you." 
A  sharp  pang  wrung  the  father's  heart  as  he  thought 
what  that  news  might  be.  "  I  know  how  Regie  loves 
you ;  I  promise  you  I  will  send  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Wylder 
for  you  every  night." 

It  was  very  fortunate  that  Mrs.  Marston  was  not  pres- 
ent to  hear  this  new  proof  of  her  brother's  affection  for 
his  little  protege".  She  would  have  congratulated  herself 
still  more  upon  her  foresight  in  disposing  of  Marjorie. 

"  Well,"  said  Judge  Gray,  in  a  lighter  tone,  "  did  Miss 
Brooks  break  her  heart  when  you  left  ?  Don't  you 
think  she  should  have  a  bigger  heart  than  the  rest  of  us, 
she  's  such  a  very  big  woman  ?  Have  the  tears  all  gone  ? 
Here  's  a  book  I  have  brought  you,  Marjorie.  It 's  a  story 
that  Regie  is  extremely  fond  of,  — '  Robinson  Crusoe.' 
You  must  learn  to  read  soon,  and  to  write.  I  think  I 
will  send  you  a  little  letter,  sometime,  and  I  know  that 
Meta  and  Regie  will,  often." 

Marjorie  hugged  him  in  speechless  gratitude,  and  then 
hugged  her  pretty  red  book  also  ;  and  as  Mrs.  Livingston 
came  in,  accompanied  by  grandma,  the  conversation  be- 
came general,  and  she  slipped  off  Judge  Gray's  knee  to 
show  Meta  her  new  treasure.  He  did  not  stay  very  long, 
for  he  felt  uneasy  every  moment  that  he  was  absent  from 
Regie's  side  ;  but  he  kissed  Marjorie  good-by  with  warm, 
fatherly  tenderness  that  sank  deep  into  the  child's  heart, 
and,  after  he  had  left  them,  and  the  ladies  went  back 
into  the  parlor,  Marjorie  stole  away  into  a  dark  corner  of 
Meta's  room,  and  there,  with  her  cheek  pressed  against 
Seraphina's,  cried  until  she  could  cry  no  more. 


HORACE.  93 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

HORACE. 

"  TOHN,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder,  in  an  impatient  voice,  "  I 
^  wish  the  cook  would  learn  to  serve  my  toast  hot. 
Take  this  down  and  order  more,  immediately." 

Mr.  Wylder  looked  up  from  the  columns  of  the  "  Even- 
ing Post."  "  Don't  give  Marjorie  tea  to-night,  my  dear," 
said  he.  "  It  always  affects  a  child's  nerves,  and  Horace 
got  it  quite  too  early  in  life." 

Horace  made  an  ugly  grimace  at  Marjorie,  as  she  turned 
her  eyes  toward  him,  and  muttered  something  under  his 
breath  about  "  not  being  a  molly-coddle." 

The  bell  rang  suddenly  and  violently,  causing  Mrs. 
Wylder  to  sink  back  among  her  cushions  with  a  faint 
groan,  and  presently  John  walked  solemnly  back  and 
handed  his  master  a  yellow  envelope  upon  his  silver 
salver,  saying  respectfully,  — 

"  Fifteen  cents  to  collect,  sir." 

A  little  hand  stole  into  Mr.  Wylder's  as  he  took  up 
the  envelope,  and  Marjorie's  excited  voice  said,  — 

"  My  telegram  !     O,  what  ?  " 

It  spoke  well  for  Marjorie's  future  that  her  new  pro- 
tector did  not  wait  to  pay  the  messenger  before  reading 
the  dispatch.  He  tore  it  open,  then  turned  to  her,  smil- 
ing,— 

"  I  wish  you  joy,  my  dear.  Judge  Gray  says,  '  Regie 
is  pronounced  out  of  danger.  Very  feeble,  but  will  re- 
cover. Love  to  Marjorie.' ' 

"  I  am  so  thankful !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Wylder.  "  Dear- 


94  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

est  Marjorie  has  cried  every  day,  I  do  believe,  about  that 
boy,  and  her  eyes  will  show  it  for  weeks,  I  fear." 

The  objectionable  tears  were  running  fast  down  Mar- 
jorie's  cheeks  as  Mr.  Wylder  picked  her  up  on  his  knee. 

"  My  dear,  don't,"  said  he,  in  a  rather  awkward  voice. 

With  her  usual  sensitiveness  for  others,  Marjorie  felt 
that,  in  some  mysterious  way,  he  was  pained  by  her  cry- 
ing, so  she  wiped  her  face  quietly,  and  said,  — 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  please,  sir.  Regie  is  such  a  splen- 
did fellow,  —  and  it  was  hard  to  come  to  New  York  and 
not  see  him  before  I  left." 

"  Marjorie,  love,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder,  "  do,  pray,  re- 
member not  to  say  '  Please,  sir.'  It  sounds  so  dreadfully 
like  a  street  beggar  ;  I've  spoken  to  you  of  it  before." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Marjorie,  the  swift  blood  flying 
into  her  face. 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  corrected  Mrs.  Wylder. 

"  I'll  try  to  remember,  mamma,"  said  Marjorie,  sub- 
missively. Mr.  Wylder  pressed  her  a  little  closer  in  his 
arms.  It  was  a  very  fair  face  that  lay  back  against  his 
shoulder.  Mrs.  Wylder,  true  to  her  promise,  had  been 
very  busy  for  the  past  week,  since  their  return,  purchas- 
ing Marjorie's  wardrobe.  Her  French  maid's  active 
fingers  had  been  called  into  service,  and  the  beautifully 
fine  muslin  and  embroidery,  the  blue  ribbons  for  her  hair 
and  waist,  the  tiny  string  of  gold  beads  at  the  throat, 
were  all  graceful  on  Marjorie.  And  it  was  curious  to  see 
how  little  the  child  seemed  to  pride  herself  upon  her  fine 
clothes.  She  was  so  absorbed  in  her  anxiety  about  Regie 
that  everything  else  was  secondary,  and  she  submitted  to 
be  pulled  about  and  fitted,  and  dressed  by  Fanchon  with 
the  same  weary,  listless  air  ;  but  she  possessed  the  innate 
refinement  of  soul  and  person  which  had  always  been  her 


HORACE.  95 

special  characteristic,  and  which  stampec  her  unmistak- 
ably, without  the  aid  of  dress.  It  was  too  subtle  for  Mrs. 
Wylder  to  detect,  however,  but  her  husband,  with  all  his 
plain,  worldly  wisdom,  was  a  keen  observer,  and  the  very 
evening  of  Marjorie's  arrival  he  uttered  a  mental  thanks- 
giving that  his  wife's  fickle  choice  had  fallen  upon  a  child 
who  possessed  something  beside  mere  prettiness  of  face 
and  form.  As  Mrs.  Wylder  had  foreseen,  her  husband 
was  not  at  all  displeased  with  the  introduction  of  a  little 
girl  into  their  home.  Marjorie  liked  Mr.  Wylder.  He 
was  a  plain,  quiet  looking  -man,  very  different  from  his 
gay,  frivolous  wife ;  a  man  who  said  very  little,  but  who 
was  well  known  among  his  acquaintances  as  extremely 
liberal  and  kindly  hearted.  The  child  felt  that  his  near- 
sighted, pale  blue  eyes  had  a  look  of  sincerity  and  truth- 
fulness, which  she  did  not  find  in  the  face  of  either  Mrs. 
Wylder  or  Horace. 

Horace  was  a  new  revelation  to  Marjorie.  Coming,  as 
she  did,  fresh  from  her  association  with  Regie,  she  was 
inclined  to  look  with  deep  admiration  upon  any  boy 
of  the  same  age  as  her  idol,  and  his  mother's  glowing 
description  of  Horace's  beauty  had  raised  her  expecta- 
tions to  the  highest  pitch.  As  far  as  regular  features, 
clear,  bright  complexion,  and  a  tall  figure  could  make 
beauty,  Horace  certainly  did  not  fall  short  of  his  mother's 
praises,  but  the  expression  of  the  bold,  handsome  face  was 
one  that  Marjorie  shrank  from.  Regie's  frank  blue  eyes, 
open  as  the  day  in  their  honest  clearness,  were  widely 
dissimilar  from  the  flashing  scornful  black  ones  that 
watched  every  movement  of  poor  Marjorie's,  until  the 
child  would  become  so  painfully  embarrassed  that  tears 
would  rush  into  her  eyes  under  the  unkind  scrutiny. 
Horace  Wylder  was  a  boy  who  had  been  ruined  by  his 


96  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

weak  mother's  indulgence.  He  was  selfish  in  the  extreme, 
bullying  and  cruel  to  boys  younger  than  himself,  and 
cringing  to  those  whose  position  he  considered  superior  to 
his  own.  If  he  had  not  been  a  very  clever,  quick-witted 
boy,  his  unpopularity  would  have  cost  him  his  place  in 
Mr.  Miller's  select  school ;  but  his  scholarship  stand  was 
a  high  one,  and  the  principal  liked  to  display  his  brilliant 
pupil  upon  all  public  occasions ;  so  Horace  kept  his  stand, 
and,  at  the  examinations,  carried  off  everything  with  fly- 
ing colors,  and  plenty  of  bombast.  The  only  thing  that 
could  make  the  boy  quail  was  the  stern  glance  of  his 
father's  eye,  when  he  was  trying  to  carry  out  some  piece 
of  deceit.  Mr.  Wylder  had  an  uneasy  feeling,  often 
recurring  to  his  mind,  that  his  son  was  not  a  perfectly 
truthful  boy,  but  as  yet  he  had  never  been  able  to  detect 
him  in  any  very  flagrant  breach  of  truth,  and  he  was 
sometimes  afraid  that,  in  his  suspicion,  he  did  Horace 
injustice. 

Marjorie's  arrival  was  not  received  with  cordiality  by 
Horace.  Mrs.  Wylder  knew  by  the  sullen  eyes  and 
lowering  brow  of  her  idol,  that  this  new  claimant  for 
favor  was  not  an  agreeable  surprise  to  him.  She  had  not 
written  to  her  husband  of  the  plan  to  adopt  Marjorie 
chiefly  because  she  knew  there  would  be  a  scene  with 
Horace,  and  (with  her  usual  habit  of  evading  disagree- 
ables) she  purposed  to  have  it  over  in  the  form  of  a  sur- 
prise. Marjorie,  when  Horace  met  them  at  the  station 
with  the  carriage,  offered  her  little  hand  to  him,  and 
put  up  her  face  to  be  kissed ;  but  Horace  glared  at  her 
savagely,  and  drew  back  with  an  exclamation,  — 

"  I  knew  you'd  be  up  to  some  dodge  or  other,  mother  ! 
What  do  you  want  of  a  girl,  bothering  round  ?  " 

Marjorie,  curled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage  trem- 


HORACE.  97 

bling  at  the  rebuff,  drew  back,  and  never  offered  to  kiss 
him  again. 

Judge  Gray  had  kept  his  promise.  Every  evening, 
Mr.  Wylder  received  a  dispatch,  containing  but  a  word 
or  two ;  still,  on  those  words  Marjorie's  anxious  heart  fed 
for  a  week.  No  one  knew  how  the  child  suffered  during 
that  time ;  the  quaint,  heart-wrung  prayers  that  she 
uttered  day  and  night  for  her  "  dear,  beautiful  Regie." 
God  knew ;  and  who  can  say  that  those  innocent  appeals 
were  in  vain,  for  was  she  not  one  of  those  little  ones  of 
whom  the  Master  said  that  "  in  heaven  their  angels  do 
always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father." 

So  it  was  a  very  happy  little  girl  who  sat  on  Mr. 
Wylder's  knee  while  he  finished  reading  his  evening 
paper,  and  when  he  laid  it  down  on  the  table,  Marjorie 
ventured  to  say,  in  answer  to  a  kind  look  from  him,  — 

"  How  long  will  it  take  Regie  to  get  well  and  strong  ? 
Do  you  believe  I  could  have  a  letter  from  him  in  two 
weeks  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  more  like  two  months,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Wylder. 

Seeing  Marjorie's  look  of  disappointment,  he  added, 
"  I  should  think  your  other  little  friend  there  —  Mr. 
Livingston's  daughter  —  would  let  you  know  about  him." 

"Meta?  Yes,  I  am  sure  she  will,"  said  Marjorie 
brightly. 

"  How  is  Seraphina  to-night  ? "  asked  Mr.  Wylder, 
with  a  smile.  Marjorie's  affection  for  her  doll  had 
amused  him  very  much. 

"  Just  as  well  as  can  be.  Fanchon  made  her  a  new 
dress  to-day;  wasn't  Mrs.  Wylder  —  I  mean,  wasn't 
mamma  —  good  to  let  her  ?  " 

"  What  sensibility  !  "  sighed  that  lady  from  her  arm- 


98  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

chair.  "  She  can  make  you  another  to-morrow,  my  dar- 
ling. And  that  reminds  me,  Mr.  Wylder,  have  you 
attended  to  that  advertisement  about  a  daily  governess 
for  Marjorie  ?  " 

"  I  called,  as  you  directed,  and  found  a  very  nice,  lady- 
like person,  who  gave  me  the  very  best  references,  so  I 
desired  her  to  come  here  to-morrow  and  make  the  final 
arrangements  as  to  hours,  with  you.  I  settled  about  the 
salary." 

"  I  don't  doubt  the  person  imposed  on  you,"  cried  Mrs. 
Wylder.  "  You  should  have  let  me  make  terms  with 
her." 

"  I  thought  it  best  to  do  that  myself,"  said  Mr.  Wyl- 
der, quietly.  He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  add  that 
he  had  been  too  much  struck  with  the  young  governess's 
hacking  cough  not  to  give  her  fully  the  amount  she 
modestly  asked :  how  angry  Mrs.  Wilder  would  have 
been  had  she  known  that  he  voluntarily  added  five  dollars 
a  quarter  to  the  sum  named,  under  the  kindly  pretext 
that  Marjorie  had  so  much  to  learn ! 

"  Is  my  governess  nice  ?  "  asked  Marjorie. 

"  I  think  so  ;  she  will  be  kind,  at  all  events.  And,  by 
the  way,  Marjorie,  how  would  Seraphina  like  it  if  I  gave 
her  a  rival  in  your  affections  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Marjorie,  opening  her  eyes, 
and  not  quite  certain  what  a  rival  could  be. 

"  As  I  was  walking  down  town  to-day  I  met  a  boy 
who  has  been  at  my  office  several  times  with  a  black  and 
tan  terrier  for  sale,  and,"  smiling,  as  Marjorie's  speaking 
eyes  caught  the  infection  of  pleasure  from  his,  —  "  and  I 
thought  I  knew  a  little  girl  who  told  me  she  liked  dogs." 

"  O,  did  you  get  him  ?  "  cried  she. 

"If  you  will  jump  down  off    my  knee  and  ring  the 


HORACE.  99 

bell  for  John,  perhaps  you'll  find  out  what  came  in  the 
basket  I  brought  home  to-night." 

Off  flew  Marjorie.  John  appeared,  and  in  his  arms 
sat  a  funny  little  dog,  with  very  bright  black  eyes,  the 
smoothest  of  hair,  and  sharp,  pointed  ears  which  gave 
him  a  most  knowing  expression. 

"Come  here,  doggie,  doggie,"  said  Marjorie,  as  John 
set  him  down  on  the  carpet.  Horace  gave  a  shrill  whis- 
tle, but  although  the  dog  heard  it,  and  wagged  his  tail, 
he  obeyed  Marjorie's  gentle  call,  to  her  great  delight. 

"  I  declare,  papa,"  said  Horace,  sullenly,  "  you're  really 
too  bad.  Here  I've  been  teasing  for  a  splendid  blood- 
hound pup  this  ever  so  long,  and  you  go  and  bring  home 
that  rat  for  Marjorie." 

"  There  is  some  difference  between  this  rat,  as  you  call 
him,  who  is  a  house-dog,  and  will  not  annoy  your  mother, 
and  a  hound  of  the  sort  you  are  anxious  to  have,"  said 
his  father.  "  We  have  no  place  except  the  stable  to  keep 
a  large  dog,  and  moreover,  I  know  that  if  I  did  allow  you 
to  bring  one  here  he  would  be  in  the  house  half  the  time. 
I  have  told  you,  Horace,  that  I  do  not  consider  dogs  of 
that  sort  safe  companions  ;  they  are  very  fierce,  and  I 
will  not  have  Marjorie  frightened." 

Horace's  face  turned  pale,  and  he  cast  a  glance  of  vin- 
dictive spite  upon  Marjorie  and  the  dog.  Fortunately 
for  him,  his  father  did  not  see  it,  and  Mrs.  Wylder  was 
too  much  occupied  in  praising  the  little  dog's  beauty  to 
notice  the  cloud  that  settled  down  upon  her  son's  face. 

"  Why,  he  's  got  a  collar  !  "  cried  Marjorie.  "  What 
a  pretty  red  one.  And  here's  a  —  I  don't  know  what 
this  is,"  touching  the  silver  plate  on  it. 

"  That 's  the  place  to  have  his  name  and  residence 
engraved,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder.  "  What  shall  we  call 


100  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

him,  darling  ?  Spy,  Flirt,  Rover,  —  no,  none  of  those  suit 
him.  Do  you  think  of  any  name  for  him,  Marjorie  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  Marjorie,  surveying  her 
new  playmate  delightedly.  "  He  's  something  like  Meta's 
dog,  Whiskey.  But  I  don't  think  Whiskey  is  a  very 
pretty  name,  do  you?  How  he  holds  his  head  up,  just 
as  if  he  was  proud  of  his  new  collar,  something  like  Tom 
Gray  when  he  wore  his  red  neck-tie  that  Regie  made 
such  fun  of.  O,  I  know  —  I'll  call  him  what  Regie 
said  Tom  was,  — '  Dandy.'  " 

"  That 's  a  very  good  name,"  said  Mr.  Wylder,  heart- 
ily. "  Ask  mamma  if  you  can  go  with  Fanchon  to- 
morrow to  some  jeweler's  and  have  the  name  put  on  the 
collar." 

"  I'll  take  you  in  the  carriage,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder. 
"  There  comes  Fanchon  for  you,  my  love.  Do  you  wish 
to  have  Dandy  in  your  room,  or  Seraphina  ?  I  don't 
wish  you  to  have  both,  for  you  won't  go  to  sleep  to-night." 

Marjorie  hesitated.  Dandy  frisked,  and  gave  her  fin- 
gers a  gentle  lick  with  his  tongue.  She  caught  Mr.  Wyl- 
der's  eye,  and  blushed  deeply. 

"  I  can't  give  up  my  dear  Seraphina,"  said  she.  "  Do 
you  think  Dandy's  feelings  would  be  hurt  ?  Seraphina  is 
the  oldest  friend ;  I  guess  I'll  take  more  comfort  with  her." 

"You  don't  forget  the  old  friends;  right,  my  little 
girl,"  said  Mr.  Wylder,  as  she  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck. 

"  I  didn't  thank  you,"  whispered  she,  hiding  her  face 
on  his  shoulder,  "  but  I  do  love  you  for  bringing  me  such 
a  dear,  cunning,  little  dog.  May  Fanchon  keep  him  for 
me?" 

"I  have  given  John  a  basket  for  him  to  sleep  in;  it 
will  stand  in  the  upper  hall,  and  when  you  open  your 


HORACE.  101 

door  in  the  morning  I  expect  you  will  see  him  waiting  for 
you  to  go  down  to  breakfast.  Good-night,  my  dear." 

Horace  sat  glowering  over  his  book  for  some  time  after 
Marjorie  had  gone,  and  his  mother,  seeing  his  displeasure, 
strove  to  divert  him  by  introducing  topics  which  she 
thought  would  please  him.  Mr.  Wylder  went  on  reading 
his  paper,  taking  no  notice  of  the  boy's  sullen  looks,  un- 
til Horace  put  up  his  book  and  addressed  him. 

"  Papa,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  you'd  give  me  fifty  dollars." 

Mr.  Wylder  raised  his  head. 

"  Fifty  dollars,  Horace  ?  You  use  money  pretty  fast, 
it  seems  to  me,  for  I  gave  you  twenty-five  over  your  al- 
lowance last  week,  and  your  quarter  is  not  half  over  yet." 

"  I  had  to  subscribe  for  a  present  to  Mr.  Smith,  the 
English  teacher,  when  he  went  away,"  said  Horace,  with 
an  impressive  side-glance  at  his  mother,  a  warning  to  her 
not  to  betray  that  she  had  given  him  ten  dollars  for  that 
purpose.  "  And  there  was  a  supper  that  our  fellows  gave 
last  week,  and  the  poor  fellows  couldn't  come  up  to  the 
mark,  so  we  rich  ones  had  to  make  it  up  to  Delmonico, 
and  "  — 

"  Delmonico !  "  said  his  father.  "  I  declare,  Horace,  you 
are  going  a  little  too  fast.  Have  I  not  forbidden  you  to 
get  up  expensive  suppers  ?  Among  school-boys  it  is  a 
most  pernicious  habit,  and  will  only  prepare  the  way  for 
all  sorts  of  excesses  by  and  by.  Well,  you  have  accounted 
for  part  of  your  money,  pray  what  do  you  need  fifty  dol- 
lars for  ?  " 

"  Base-ball  —  and  things,"  said  Horace,  boldly,  meet- 
ing his  father's  eye  for  half  a  second,  and  then  looking 
away. 

"  I  dislike  to  refuse  you,"  said  Mr.  Wylder,  more  kindly, 
as  he  saw  his  wife's  beseeching  gesture,  "  but  I  will  not 


102  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

allow  you  to  run  into  extravagant  habits  if  I  can  help  it. 
I  think  five  dollars  for  the  base-ball,  and  five  for  the 
'  things,'  must  satisfy  you  this  time ;  there  is  ten  dollars. 
Do  not  ask  me  for  more  until  your  allowance  is  due. 
Louise,"  speaking  with  the  decision  which  Mrs.  Wylder 
knew  she  must  obey  on  the  rare  occasions  when  it  was 
displayed  toward  her,  —  "  you  will  understand  that  I  mean 
what  I  say,  and  I  request  that  you  will  not  give  Horace 
anything  out  of  your  private  purse  unless  I  am  first  con- 
sulted." 

Horace  took  the  bank-note  extended  toward  him,  mut- 
tered something  too  low  for  his  father  to  catch,  and  left 
the  parlor,  banging  the  door  behind  him. 

Mr.  Wylder  sighed  painfully  as  he  resumed  his  reading, 
but  nothing  further  was  said  on  the  subject  by  either  hus- 
band or  wife,  and  Mrs.  Wylder  finished  her  novel  before 
she  went  to  bed. 

But  Horace  had  no  intention  of  letting  the  matter  rest 
thus.  The  next  day  as  his  mother  was  sitting  in  her 
room  before  lunch,  he  came  in,  and  flung  himself  down 
on  the  sofa,  first  giving  her  a  kiss.  She  looked  pleased  at 
the  unusual  tenderness,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  go  out 
to  drive  in  the  Park  with  her  before  dinner. 

"  Bother !  no,"  said  he  impatiently.  "  I've  an  appoint- 
ment at  three.  I  say,  mother,  what  made  papa  so  cross 
last  night  ?  Has  he  been  losing  anything  down  town  ?  " 

"  Mercy  !  I  hope  not,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Wylder.  "  How 
you  frightened  me,  you  sad  naughty  boy.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  heard  him  say  last  week  that  he  had  been  very 
fortunate  in  a  speculation." 

"  Then  why  is  he  so  confounded  mean  as  not  to  let  me 
have  that  fifty  dollars  ?  "  cried  the  dutiful  son. 

"  You  have  been  getting  into  debt  again,"  said  Mrs. 


HORACE.  103 

Wylder,  a  terrified  look  crossing  her  face.  "  You  know 
how  very  angry  your  father  would  be  at  such  a  thing. 
I  wish,"  fretfully,  —  "I  wish  you  would  behave  better. 
Like  Regie  Gray,  for  instance." 

"  Don't  hold  up  that  prig  to  me,"  said  he.  "  I'm  sick 
of  his  name.  That  big-eyed  child  talks  of  him  from 
morning  till  night.  What  do  I  care  for  Reginald  Gray  ? 
But,  mother,  pretty  little  mother,"  changing  his  rude  tone 
for  a  wheedlesome  one,  "  I'm  in  a  horrid  scrape,  and 
you'd  better  give  me  some  of  your  spare  money  to  help 
me  out  of  it." 

"  Who  are  you  in  debt  to  now  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  Most  of  it  's  a  bill  at  Carter's.  Well,"  defiantly,  as 
his  mother  uttered  an  exclamation  of  disgust.  "  I  don't 
smoke  any  more  cigars  or  drink  any  more  champagne 
than  Cliff  De  Peyster,  whom  you're  always  so  precious 
glad  to  see  me  with  —  there !  " 

"  But,  Horace,  indeed,  I  don't  dare  to  give  you  any  of 
my  money  this  time  ;  you  heard  what  your  father  said. 
And,  beside,  I  really  have  not  got  more  than  seventy-five 
dollars  in  my  purse,  and  I  must  pay  some  of  the  bills  for 
Marjorie's  wardrobe  to-day."  She  spoke  with  unusual 
decision.  An  angry  glow  rose  to  Horace's  forehead. 

"  I  wish  that  beggar  child  was  dead  and  buried  before 
you  brought  her  into  the  house  to  spend  your  time  and 
money  on.  Can't  you  give  me  anything  ?  I'm  afraid 
Carter  will  keep  his  threat  of  sending  in  his  account  to 
father  unless  I  pay  part  of  it  to-day." 

"  Dear  me  !  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  cried  his  mother, 
helplessly  ;  "  I  believe  there  is  twenty-five  dollars  in  my 
desk  (it  's  part  of  Fanchon's  wages,  but  I  can  make  it  up 
in  some  way),  and  you  can  have  that." 

"  I  want  fifty,"  said  Horace,  doggedly. 


104  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Then  you'll  have  to  want  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder,  pet- 
ulantly, taking  out  her  keys.  "  I  can't  give  you  a  cent 
more  than  twenty-five,  and  I  ought  not  to  give  you  that. 
Take  it,  quick  !  here  comes  Marjorie." 

Dandy  trotted  into  the  room,  followed  by  his  little  mis- 
tress, and  Horace  thrust  the  bills  into  his  vest  pocket, 
scowled  at  Marjorie  as  she  shrank  out  of  his  way,  and 
bestowed  a  vicious  kick  on  poor  Dandy  when  he  frisked 
playfully  up  to  him. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Marjorie,  in  an  indignant  voice,  taking 
Dandy  up  in  her  arms,  and  trying  to  stop  his  whining,  "  I 
do  think  Horace  is  very  unkind  !  Won't  you  please  ask 
him  to  let  my  dog  alone." 

"  Your  dog,  Miss  Impudence !  "  echoed  Horace,  in  a 
sneering  tone.  "  Much  business  you  have  with  it.  Go 
back  to  your  asylum." 

"  O,  fie !  "  said  his  mother  as  the  door  slammed  behind 
her  model  son.  "  Marjorie,  love,  he  has  a  headache  this 
morning  ;  don't  mind  what  he  says." 

But  Marjorie  drew  a  mental  comparison  between  Hor- 
ace and  Regie  which  was  by  no  means  complimentary  to 
the  former,  and  resolved  to  learn  to  write  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, in  order  that  she  might  give  Regie  a  full  catalogue 
of  Horace's  enormities. 


WHAT   BARNEY   KEPT.  105 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHAT   BARNEY   KEPT. 

LITTLE  more  to  the  left,  papa,  please  ;  that  'a 
nice,  thank  you,"  and  Regie  gave  a  low  sigh  of  sat- 
isfaction as  he  lay  back  on  his  pillows  and  felt  the  soft 
summer  air  on  his  pale  face. 

"You  are  not  too  fat,  Rex,"  said  Judge  Gray,  survey- 
ing him  with  a  quizzical  face,  but  very  tender  eyes. 
"  You  remind  me  strongly  of  the  man's  horse  who  lived 
on  a  straw  a  day." 

"  Only  when  he  got  to  the  single  straw  he  died,  papa, 
and  I  —  didn't !  "  said  Regie  with  a  half  tremble  in  his 
tone. 

"  No,  thank  God  !  " 

Regie  heard,  though  the  remark  was  uttered  in  a  whis- 
per. "  You  have  your  old  plague  yet,  papa.  Dear  me  ! 
I  wonder  how  long  it'll  be  before  I  can  run  up-stairs  with 
you  again." 

"  One  doesn't  recover  from  such  an  illness  as  yours  in 
a  hurry,  Regie.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Dr.  Gibbs  about 
you  last  night,  and  he  recommends  my  taking  you  away 
just  as  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough  to  bear  the  journey." 

"  Where  ? "  asked  Regie,  with  something  of  his  old 
animation  in  his  manner. 

"  I  have  not  quite  decided.  The  doctor  says  you  must 
have  mountain  air,  and  I  am  thinking  of  some  quiet  place 
in  the  White  Hills ;  Coiiway,  for  instance.  And  (as  I 
cannot  be  with  you  all  the  time,  on  account  of  the  August 
circuit)  grandma  thinks  that  Meta  might  go  with  your 
aunt  Rachel  and  you." 


106  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Meta  ?  That 's  jolly  !  O,  papa,  I  could  not  get 
along  with  Aunt  Rachel  alone.  She 's  real  good  " —  Regie 
hesitated  — "  but  somehow,  she  always  does  rub  me  the 
wrong  way.  And  I  think  I'm  cross  nowadays,  and  I 
should  miss  you,  papa."  The  ready  tears  filled  the  blue 
eyes  as  his  father  patted  him  gently  on  his  chestnut  curls. 

"  Papa,"  said  Regie,  after  winking  violently  and  swal- 
lowing something  hard  in  his  throat,  "  do  you  think  I 
might  write  a  line  or  two  to  Marjorie  this  week?  Meta 
wrote  twice  for  me,  but  you  see  she'll  be  ever  so  much 
pleased  to  get  a  note  from  me  direct,  and  —  and  —  some- 
how, papa,  I  have  a  feeling  that  Marjorie  isn't  quite  as 
happy  down  at  Mrs.  Wylder's  as  she  might  be." 

"  It 's  only  a  feeling,  Rex,  I  imagine,  for  your  aunt 
Helen  tells  me  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wylder  are  de- 
lighted with  her.  But  I  am  sorry  I  let  her  go  while 
you  were  ill ;  if  I  had  not  been  so  anxious  about  you,  my 
boy,  I  should  have  tried  to  make  a  different  arrange- 
ment. And  your  grandmother  seemed  to  think  that  it 
was  such  a  fine  chance  for  Marjorie  " — 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Regie,  hastily,  not  wishing  his 
father  to  regret  his  decision,  and  determined  not  to  show 
how  much  he  felt  Marjorie's  departure.  "  It  was  all 
right,  of  course,  but  I  don't  fancy  aunt  Helen's  friends 
much.  And  Mrs.  Wylder  is  so  fussy  and  fine-ladyish  — 
you  know  what  I  mean.  I  hope  Marjorie  won't  grow 
up  a  silly  little  girl  like  Lily ;  you  needn't  shake  your 
head,  papa ;  you  know  that  Lily  only  thinks  of  dress  and 
nonsense." 

Just  then  there  was  a  low  tap  on  the  door,  and  Meta's 
pleasant  face  peeped  in. 

"  Sitting  up  ;  why,  Regie  !  Uncle  James,  can  he  have 
some  grapes  ?  These  are  the  first  in  our  grapery,  and 


WHAT   BARNEY   KEPT.  107 

mamma  sent  him  half  her  bunch.  And  Miss  Rachel  said 
I  might  stay  for  half  an  hour  while  she  went  to  market." 

"  You're  always  welcome,"  said  Regie,  with  a  grateful 
face. 

"  How  stupid  I  am,"  said  she,  after  a  moment.  "  There 
is  somebody  waiting  to  see  you,  Uncle  James  —  the  oddest 
man.  I  met  him  on  the  steps.  '  Are  you  anything  to 
his  Honor,  the  Judge,'  said  he,  with  such  a  comical  bob  of 
his  head.  I  told  him  you  were  my  uncle,  and  he  added 
'  Ye're  av  the  same  sthock,  it 's  plain  to  see  in  yer  purty 
eyes,  Miss.  Would  ye  plase  tell  Judge  Gray  its  Barney 
Brian  ud  be  after  spaking  wid  him  —  from  Wynn  be- 
yont.'  " 

Meta  gave  the  droll  Irish  brogue  very  cleverly,  and 
Regie  laughed,  and  exclaimed  in  the  same  breath,  — 

"  Barney  —  why,  papa,  that 's  Madge's  fiddler,  isn't  ? 
Poor  man,  he'll  be  so  disappointed  at  not  seeing  her.  I 
wish  I  could  see  him  —  can't  I  ?  "  Judge  Gray  shook  his 
head. 

"  It  would  excite  you  too  much ;  why  even  Meta  has 
brought  the  color  to  your  cheeks,  and  I  won't  let  her  stay 
too  long.  No  exciting  topics  for  this  fellow,  remember," 
and  pinching  her  blushing  face,  Judge  Gray  went  down  to 
see  Barney. 

He  found  the  Irishman  standing  in  the  hall,  twirling 
his  hat  awkwardly  in  his  hands,  and  evidently  feeling  out 
of  place. 

"  So  you  found  me  out,  Barney  ?  I'm  very  glad  to  see 
you,"  said  Judge  Gray,  cordially,  shaking  hands  with  the 
man.  "  Come  into  my  study  ;  how  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"  I  worked  part  of  the  way  on  the  railroad,  yer  Honor, 
and  part  of  the  ways  I  walked,  doing  a  turn  here  and 
there  for  me  supper.  And  how  's  Margie,  the  darlint  ? 
It 's  lonesome  I  was  for  her  all  winter." 


108  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Judge  Gray  made  Barney  take  a  chair,  and  then  told 
him,  kindly,  of  Marjorie's  different  homes  since  she  left 
Wynn.  But  poor  Barney's  face  fell  when  he  learned  that 
he  had  come  too  late  ;  that  Marjorie  had  gone  to  live  in 
New  York. 

"Well,  I  'spose  yer  Honor  knows  best  intirely,"  said 
he,  at  last,  "  but  I'll  niver  see  me  little  girl  again,  I  fear. 
Do  you  think  she'd  remember  me,  by  and  by  ?  —  but  no, 
she  's  only  a  bit  of  a  child,  sure." 

"  But  a  very  affectionate  one,"  said  Judge  Gray,  his 
kindly  heart  touched  by  the  Irishman's  emotion.  "  No, 
Barney,  she  won't  forget  you;  I  will  see  that  she  does 
not.  I  have  something  here  that  I  am  sure  she  would 
give  you  if  she  only  knew  what  a  long  journey  you  had 
taken  to  see  her ;  isn't  that  a  good  likeness  ?  " 

While  speaking  he  had  opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk, 
and  he  now  took  out  two  pictures  which  he  handed  to 
Barney.  They  were  photographs,  merely  small  vignettes, 
but  the  artist  had  caught  the  peculiar,  pathetic  glance  of 
the  soft  gray  eyes  which  was  the  charm  of  Marjorie's  face, 
and  her  very  little  self  looked  soberly  at  Barney  from  the 
paper. 

"  Och !  but  it 's  the  very  moral  av  her !  "  cried  he, 
drawing  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  furtively.  "  Bless  her 
swate  face  —  she  's  the  sinsible  little  sowl." 

"  One  of  these  she  sent  to  Regie,  my  son,  and  the  other 
to  me,"  said  Judge  Gray.  "  I  think  I'll  give  mine  to  you, 
for  I  am  sure  Marjorie  would  want  you  to  have  it." 

"  Is  it  take  yer  Honor's  ?  'Dade,  I'd  not  be  robbing 
you  av  the  same,"  said  Barney,  with  true  Irish  politeness. 
"  Not  but  what  I'd  be  plased,  yis,  deloighted  to  have  such 
a  purty  picture  —  your  Honor  knows  that." 

"  I  insist  upon  it,"  said  the  Judge,  smiling  with  th.3 


WHAT    BARNEY   KEPT.  109 

kindliness  that  was  so  irresistible  and  which  won  its  way 
with  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor.  "  Marjorie  will  send 
me  another,  when  I  write  her  all  about  your  visit.  What 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  Are  you  thinking  of  going  to  work 
here?" 

Barney's  embarrassment  which  his  host's  good  breeding 
had  charmed  away,  returned  to  him  in  full  force  at  this 
question.  He  thanked  his  Honor  —  he  was  much  be- 
holden to  him, — but  he  hardly  had  any  plans.  The 
people  beyont,  at  Saybrooke,  would  be  after  missing 
him ;  he  had  nothing  but  his  fiddle,  and  he  had  wanted 
to  have  a  talk  with  his  Honor  —  and  there  Barney  broke 
down,  in  utter  confusion. 

"  Well,"  said  Judge  Gray,  looking  merrily  at  him,  "  are 
you  in  a  bit  of  a  scrape  ?  I  hope  you  haven't  been  run- 
ning into  the  clutches  of  the  law  ;  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Iiidade  it 's  nothing  av  that  kind,"  Barney  said 
warmly.  And  then  gaining  courage  from  the  twinkling 
eyes  opposite  him,  he  plunged  boldly  into  it. 

"  It 's  the  letters,  yer  Honor ;  an'  sure,  I  thought  maybe 
she'd  be  losing  them,  it 's  such  a  slip  of  a  girl  she  is.  An  I 
don't  know  as  they  tell  anything ;  but  the  mother,  says 
she,  '  Promise  me  to  give  it  to  him,  an'  tell  him  I  tried 
my  best  —  my  very  best.'  An  then  she  went  off  into  some 
furrin  tongue,  and  I  shook  me  head,  and  says  I,  '  Spake 
English,  ma'am,  for  I  can't  understand  you,'  "  — 

"  Barney,"  said  Judge  Gray,  in  a  graver  voice,  "  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  what  you  are  talking  about.  Do  you 
mean  that  you  have  letters  in  your  possession  which  be- 
longed to  Marjorie's  mother?" 

"  It 's  just  that  same,"  said  Barney,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  And  it 's  sorry  I  am  that  I  didn't  give  'em  to  yer  Honor 
in  the  first  of  it.  But  says  I  to  meself ,  I  '11  not  give  'em 
to  Margie  —  the  bracelet  was  all  I  gave  her." 


110  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Bit  by  bit,  in  a  curious  garrulous  narrative,  Judge  Gray 
succeeded  in  drawing  all  that  Barney  knew  from  him.  It 
was  the  same  story,  in  the  main,  which  he  had  told  Marjo- 
rie,  except  in  regard  to  the  packet  he  had  kept.  He  told 
Judge  Gray  that  just  before  her  death,  he  had  accident- 
ally been  left  alone  with  Marjorie's  mother  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  that  her  consciousness  had  been  very  brief. 
She  took  the  letters  from  under  the  pillow  where  she  had 
hidden  them,  and  begged  him  to  carry  them  to  "  him." 

"  She  called  whoever  she  was  spaking  av  by  sorra  a 
name,  though  I  axed  her  twice  would  she  tell  me  was  it 
her  husband.  '  Who  but  him  ?  '  says  she.  '  He  will  die, 
and  never  know  I  did  my  best  —  my  very  best ; '  an'  thin, 
as  I'm  telling  yer  Honor,  she  wint  off  raving  in  some 
language  that  I  don't  know,  and  in  a  minute  more  Judy 
came  back,  and  the  purty  young  thing  died,  quite  aisy." 

"  What  did  she  look  like  ?  "  asked  Judge  Gray. 

"  Marjorie  's  the  very  moral  of  her,  only  the  mother 
was  purtier.  An'  it  's  a  rale  lady  she  was  I'm  sure,  fur 
her  hands  were  small  and  white,  an'  even  in  her  raving 
she'd  the  manner  of  a  born  aristocrat,  ye  mind.  Sandy 
Ferguson,  at  the  tavern  beyont,  spelled  out  a  bit  av  those 
letters,  but  sure,  out  av  the  four  two  was  in  a  quare 
tongue ;  look,  yer  Honor,"  and  Barney  gave  the  letters 
into  Judge  Gray's  hand. 

One  of  the  letters  was  written  in  a  bold,  manly  hand, 
in  English.  It  began,  ;'  My  dear  Father,"  and  was 
signed,  "  Your  still  affectionate  son,  George."  The  two 
others  were  in  French ;  one,  in  the  same  handwriting  as 
the  first,  was  full  of  terms  of  endearment.  It  was  dated 
"  London,"  and  playfully  chid  her  for  her  impatience,  as- 
suring her  that  the  next  steamer  should  carry  her  positive 
news  of  the  writer's  plans.  This  again  was  signed  "  Thine 


WHAT    BARNEY  KEPT.  Ill 

own  lover,  George."  The  third  letter  was  also  written  in 
French,  but  in  a  different  hand.  It  was  dated  at  Mar- 
seilles, and  told,  harshly  enough,  that  "  la  tante  "was  still 
implacable  and  refused  to  hear  aught  of  "  Madeline." 
"  Thou  hast  chosen  thy  path,"  pursued  the  letter,  "  and 
may'st  walk  therein.  We,  of  thy  family  disgraced,  have 
no  more  to  do  with  thee.  Go  thou  with  thy  husband  into 
the  nation  of  shop-keepers."  The  signature  to  this  letter 
had  been  torn  off,  as  had  the  heading  and  address  of  the 
fourth  letter.  The  last  read  :  — 

"  DEAR  MADAME,  —  In  answer  to  yours  of  the  15th 
instant  we  have  the  honor  to  reply  that  the  sum  of  money 
due  you  at  our  bankers  has  been  drawn  by  your  last 
cheque,  and  we  await  orders   from  America  before  ad- 
vancing further  funds.     Nothing  has  been   heard  from 
Dr.  Rodman  up  to  this  date.         Respectfully  yours, 
"  BARKY  &  WILLIAMS,  Solicitors, 
"  4  Garden  Court,  East" 

Judge  Gray  read  these  letters  over  slowly,  and  with 
deepening  thoughtfulness.  Then  he  took  up  the  first 
letter,  and  reread  it  with  the  greatest  care. 

"  MY  DEAR  FATHER,  — I  am  aware  that  my  marriage 
has  given  you  the  utmost  displeasure,  but  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  you  really  mean  what  you  say  in  your  last 
letter.  I  may  be  a  beggar,  but  I  am  not  a  scoundrel, 
and  I  could  no  more  leave  my  helpless  wife  and  child 
alone  in  a  foreign  country  and  do  your  bidding  than  I 
could  commit  forgery,  or  any  other  capital  crime.  I  ask 
your  forgiveness,  humbly  ;  I  am  willing  to  accept  the 
meanest  place  in  your  employ  to  gain  a  livelihood  for 
my  dear  ones,  but  I  cannot  and  will  not  accept  such 
terms  as  your  harsh  letter  offered  me.  Let  me  hear 


112  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

soon,  if   at  all,  and  believe   me  your  still   affectionate 
son,  GEOKGE." 

"  What  does  your  Honor  say  to  'em?"  asked  Barney 
eagerly,  as  Judge  Gray  laid  down  the  last  paper. 

"  The  information  in  them  is  of  the  most  meagre  de- 
scription, Barney.  The  foreign  letters  are  written  in 
French,  but  they  do  not  even  mention  surnames,  and 
prove  nothing.  The  only  clew  at  all  is  in  the  address  at 
the  bottom  of  this  letter.  I  will  think  the  matter  over 
carefully,  and  apply  to  Messrs.  Barry  &  Williams,  in 
London.  But  there  is  no  date  there  to  go  by;  it  is  a 
very  mysterious  and  singular  case." 

"An'  can't  yer  Honor  find  out  Margie's  father?  "  asked 
Barney,  in  a  disappointed  voice. 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  Judge  Gray,  heartily.  "  But 
there  is  very  little  to  go  upon.  I  think  you  were  quite 
right  not  to  give  Marjorie  these  letters.  I  shall  not  tell 
the  child  one  word  about  them,  or  raise  any  false  hopes. 
She  is  in  good  hands,  and  I  give  you  my  word  that  I 
shall  always  look  to  her  welfare." 

"  An'  bedad  !  that  's  as  good  as  yer  Honor's  bond  any 
day,"  said  Barney  warmly,  tears  rising  in  his  eyes. 

"  Thank  you,"  with  a  smile.  "  Well,  shall  I  speak  a 
good  word  for  you  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  If  yer  Honor  would  be  so  good,"  said  Barney,  in  an 
insinuating  voice.  "  If  there'd  be  a  porter's  place,  or  a 
waiter's,  in  some  saloon,  loike,  —  a  day  place,  av  you 
plase,  for  I'm  wanting  the  nights  till  meself,  on  account 
av  the  fiddle." 

"  So  you  brought  that  with  you,"  said  Judge  Gray 
laughing.  "I'll  remember,  Barney,  and  if  you  will  call 
here  in  two  days  I  will  look  about  and  see  what  I  can  do. 


WHAT   BARNEY  KEPT.  113 

My  son  has  been  very  ill  and  is  just  recovering  from  a 
fever;  he  wants  to  see  you.  Marjorie  has  of  ten  talked 
of  you  to  him." 

"  I'd  be  proud  to  see  the  young  masther ;  sure,  I've 
heard  Mrs.  Merrill  talk  av  him  many  a  time.  Many 
thanks  to  yer  Honor  for  all  favors,  more  especially  the 
picture  of  Marjorie ;  it  's  a  foine,  noble-hearted  j auntie- 
man  yees  is,  an'  it 's  Barney  Brian  will  maintain  that 
same.  Good-day,  yer  Honor  ;  I  hope  I've  not  taken  up 
yer  morning  talking  wid  the  loikes  av  me." 

But  after  Barney  left  him,  Judge  Gray  read  the  letters 
over  for  the  third  time,  and  having  made  careful  memo- 
randa of  the  solicitors'  address  in  London,  he  opened  his 
desk  and  put  the  papers  safely  away  in  one  of  the  pigeon- 
holes. He  would  have  told  Regie  the  story  except  that 
he  feared  it  might  prove  too  romantic  and  exciting  in  the 
boy's  present  state  of  health  ;  no,  it  was  best  to  leave  it 
as  it  stood  until  he  had  written  to  London  and  received 
the  answer.  So  thinking,  he  locked  his  desk  and  walked 
up-stairs.  Meta  was  sitting  on  her  low  stool,  reading ; 
and,  lying  back  in  his  invalid  chair,  a  faint  glow  of  re- 
turning health  on  his  pale  cheeks,  lay  Regie  fast  asleep. 


114  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HORACE'S  REVENGE. 

RS.  WYLDER  sat  in  her  boudoir  in  a  state  of  sup- 
»  I  « 

-*•*-!•  pressed  excitement.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  large 
feather  fan,  in  the  other  a  handkerchief,  which  she  con- 
sidered it  necessary  to  apply  frequently  to  her  eyes,  be- 
tween the  intervals  of  her  directions  to  Fanchon,  who  was 
upon  her  knees  on  the  floor  in  front  of  a  large  trunk 
which  she  was  packing. 

"  My  grenadine  goes  on  top,  Fanchon ;  dear  me,  not 
the  one  trimmed  with  fringe.  I  said  the  silk  one,  —  how 
can  I  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  with  fringe  and  bugles?" 
demanded  Mrs.  Wylder  pathetically,  raising  her  eyes  to- 
ward the  gilt  moulding  of  the  ceiling  as  if  asking  advice 
of  somebody  lurking  in  the  cornice. 

"  If  madame  pleases,"  said  Fanchon,  respectfully,  "  I 
could  remove  the  fringe  in  half  an  hour,  and  "  — 

"  Half  an  hour !  Is  the  girl  crazy  ?  Did  not  Mr. 
Wylder  say  I  must  be  ready  to  take  the  evening  boat, 
and  we  must  allow  an  hour  or  more  to  drive  down  to  the 
dock.  I  do  think,  Fanchon,  you  have  no  ideas  at  all." 

"  Pardon,  madame,  but  the  grenadine  of  silk  is  soiled 
with  the  coffee  that  madame  spilt  on  it.  I  knew  madame 
would  not  wear  that,  and  the  bugles  will  not  show  under 
the  crape,  —  or  does  madame  not  mean  to  wear  crape  save 
for  the  funeral  ?  " 

"  Crape  —  for  my  dear  sister —  of  course !  And  there  's 
another  trial ;  it  's  such  horrid  mourning  to  wear,  Fan- 
chon. One  looks  like  a  cloud  of  ink." 


HORACE'S  REVENGE.  115 

"  But  with  madame's  fair  skin  and  hair  she  can  but 
look  the  more  —  what  you  call  ?  —  ah !  interesting.  Ma- 
dame's  robe  of  plain  black  is  ever  most  becoming,"  cried 
Fanchon. 

Mrs.  Wylder  put  down  her  handkerchief.  "  Well,  per- 
haps I  may  not  look  quite  a  fright,  but  I  shall  expect  you 
to  use  your  utmost  taste  on  the  dress  I  have  ordered. 
Five  folds  of  crape  above  the  flounce,  unless  you  think 
that  looks  too  heavy  for  the  season,  in  which  case  you  will 
put  on  three,  and  pipings.  And  make  some  black  neck- 
ties for  Master  Horace,  and  finish  that  white  tucked  dress 
for  Miss  Marjorie." 

"  How  long  will  madame  be  away  ?  "  asked  Fanchon 
in  a  deprecating  voice. 

"  Not  more  than  three  days,"  said  Mrs.  Wylder 
sharply.  "  My  feelings  are  so  sensitive ;  I  cannot  bear  to 
stay  among  my  grief-stricken  family.  I  leave  Miss  Mar- 
jorie quite  in  your  charge,  Fanchon.  Do  not  permit  her 
to  go  out  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  but  you  may  take  her 
out  to  the  Park  after  five  in  the  afternoon.  Andrew  has 
asked  permission  to  go  into  the  country  for  two  days,  so 
the  horses  will  not  be  used,  and  you  and  John  and  Cook 
can  take  care  of  the  house.  Give  Mr.  Horace  his  meals 
as  usual  (but  that  's  John's  business  —  I'll  mention  it  to 
him),  and  do  not  let  Marjorie  have  an  over  amount  of 
fruit.  There,"  as  the  door  opened,  "finish  the  packing 
as  soon  as  you  can,  Fanchon.  Has  Miss  Thornton  gone, 
my  love?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Marjorie,  laying  her  armful  of 
books  on  the  sofa.  "  And  she  said  that  her  headache 
was  so  bad  that  I  might  leave  my  French  verb  until  to- 
morrow. I  thought  perhaps  I  might  recite  it  to  Fanchon 
—  O,  mamma  !  are  we  going  away  ?  " 


116  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Your  papa  and  I  are  going,  love,  on  a  very  sad  jour- 
ney. We  had  a  telegram  announcing  the  sudden  death  of 
my  dear  sister  Maria  —  Mrs.  Fellowes;  and  we  are  going 
up  to  their  place,  just  back  of  Poughkeepsie  (an  elegant 
country-seat,  dear  ;  graperies,  and  hot-houses,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  which  poor  Maria  took  such  pride  in,  alas  !) 
for  the  funeral.  I  shall  leave  you  in  Fanchon's  charge, 
and  I  know  you  will  be  a  very  good  little  girl." 

"  How  long  will  you  be  gone,  mamma  ?  Is  Horace 
going?" 

"  My  patience  !  no,  child.  Horace  has  sensitive  feel- 
ings like  myself,  and  he  would  only  be  made  unhappy  by 
going  into  such  a  house  of  affliction.  To-day  is  Wednes- 
day ;  we  shall  be  back  on  Saturday  night,  I  think,  or,  at 
latest,  on  Sunday  morning,  by  boat." 

"  Please  mamma,"  said  Marjorie,  in  a  timid  voice,  with 
a  very  distrustful  face,  "  will  you  ask  Horace  not  to  tease 
me  while  you're  gone  ?  I  know  he  will,  and  there  won't 
be  anybody  to  make  him  mind." 

If  Marjorie  had  known  that  the  petition  was  overheard 
by  Horace  she  would  probably  never  have  made  it ;  for 
she  had  by  this  time  learned  that  the  certain  way  to  in- 
duce him  to  perform  an  act  was  to  beg  him  not  to  do  it. 
Master  Horace  was  at  that  unlucky  moment  sitting  at 
the  top  of  the  staircase,  perched  on  the  banister,  eating 
some  preserved  limes  which  he  had  stolen  from  the  cook's 
pantry,  and  as  he  heard  Marjorie's  request  through  the 
half  open  door  of  his  mother's  room,  he  chuckled,  stuck 
his  tongue  in  his  cheek  and  his  thumb  on  his  nose,  and 
ejaculated  mentally,  "  O,  you  precious  fool !  I'll  serve 
you  out." 

Mrs.  Wylder  promised,  and  meant  to  keep  her  word, 
but  her  mind  soon  reverted  to  the  dress  which  Fanchon 


HORACE'S  REVENGE.  117 

had  planned  for  her,  and  in  giving  more  minute  directions 
about  it,  and  changing  her  mind  four  times  in  regard  to 
the  crape  trimming,  Marjorie's  request  slipped  from  her 
mind.  Indeed,  if  it  had  not,  it  is  extremely  doubtful 
whether  his  mother's  command  would  have  altered  mas- 
ter's Horace's  plans.  So,  in  a  great  bustle  and  lamenta- 
tion, Mrs.  Wylder  got  off  at  last,  and  Marjorie  sat  down 
to  her  solitary  dinner,  John  standing  behind  her  chair  in 
as  solemn  state  as  if  his  mistress  had  been  looking  on. 
Horace  had  gone  out  to  dine  with  Jack  Miller,  one  of  his 
classmates,  and  it  must  be  said  that  Marjorie  felt  his 
absence  was  a  relief.  But  John's  majesty  was  so  oppres- 
sive to  her  that  at  last  she  sent  him  up-stairs  to  fetch 
Dandy  and  Seraphina,  and  with  the  former  contentedly 
at  her  feet,  and  the  latter  in  a  chair  at  her  side,  she  fin- 
ished her  dessert  in  comparative  comfort. 

The  next  day  Marjorie  met  Horace  at  breakfast  in 
fear  and  trembling.  She  had  a  vague  feeling  that  what- 
ever reckoning  he  meant  to  visit  upon  her  would  descend 
upon  her  head  now.  But  Horace,  on  the  contrary,  was  a 
shade  more  affable  than  usual,  and  helped  Marjorie  twice 
to  the  best  half  of  the  melon  before  him,  which  surprised 
her,  for  he  was  famous  for  attending  to  No.  1  at  all  times, 
and  particularly  at  dinner. 

"  John,"  said  Horace  rising  from  the  table  at  last, 
"  I  want  my  horse  brought  around  at  live  to-day,  and  you 
may  keep  some  dinner  for  me.  Go  over  to  the  stable 
and  tell  Disbrowe  to  send  the  horse  —  the  one  I  usually 
ride.  And,  by  the  way,  where  did  Andrew  leave  the 
keys  of  our  stable  ?  " 

"  I  have  them,  sir,"  said  John. 

"  But  the  horses  are  away,  you  know,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  I  guess  I  knew  that  before  you  did,"  said  Horace. 


118  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  You  can  bring  the  keys  up  to   my  room,  John.     I'll 
keep  them  until  my  father  returns." 

The  event  of  Marjorie's  day  was  the  arrival  of  a  letter 
from  Regie.  Yes,  actually  from  Regie  himself,  although 
it  was  written  with  a  pencil,  in  rather  shaky  handwrit- 
ing, and  was  hardly  more  than  a  note.  Marjorie  got 
Miss  Thornton  to  read  it  for  her,  and  then  learned  it  by 
heart. 

"  You  DEAR  LITTLE  MADGE,  —  I've  made  Meta  give 
me  the  pencil,  for  I  was  bound  to  write  myself  this  time. 
I  am  really  getting  better,  though  I  am  pretty  shaky, 
even  yet,  and  don't  have  good  nights.  Papa  is  going  to 
take  me  (with  Meta  and  Aunt  Rachel)  up  to  a  place  in 
the  White  Mountains,  and  when  I  come  home  I  mean  to 
coax  him  to  let  me  come  by  way  of  New  York  and  stop 
and  see  you.  Be  sure  and  write  me  often.  I  liked  your 
printed  letter  very  much.  I  send  a  kiss  for  Seraphina. 
Don't  forget  the  '  Red  Cross  Knight,' 

"  Your  affe".  "  REGIE." 

"  Miss  Thornton,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  delighted  face, 
"Don't  you  think  my  Regie  writes  beautiful  letters? 
Do  you  'spose  I'll  ever  write  one  half  as  nice  ?  " 

Miss  Thornton  smiled.  "  If  you  try  very  hard,  Mar- 
jorie. Take  care  of  those  capital  R's  —  that  looks  very 
much  like  a  B." 

The  afternoon  was  very  hot,  quite  too  warm,  Fanchon 
declared,  for  Mam'selle  or  herself  to  go  out  to  the  Park. 
In  fact,  Marjorie  was  not  very  anxious  to  go ;  she  had  a 
new  story  book  which  Mr.  Wylder  had  given  her  just  be- 
fore he  left,  and  it  was  very  comfortable  to  sit  in  the  cool 
library  with  Dandy  at  her  feet  and  play  reading  aloud  to 


HORACE'S  REVENGE.  119 

Seraphina.  Fanchon  had  a  toothache,  and  that,  with  the 
heat,  made  her  very  cross,  so  she  went  away  to  her  own 
room  in  the  attic  and  took  out  a  small  bottle  of  chloro- 
form which  she  kept  to  use  in  such  emergencies.  She 
was  desperately  afraid  of  the  stuff,  however,  but  the  pain 
was  very  great  and  she  took  more  than  usual  to  soothe 
the  tooth.  Poor  Fanchon !  how  bitterly  she  reproached 
herself  for  it  afterward. 

Dinner  time  came,  and,  very  much  to  Marjorie's  sur- 
prise, Horace  made  his  appearance  at  the  table.  She 
tried  to  be  as  pleasant  as  possible,  and  (finding  that  he 
seemed  inclined  for  conversation)  she  told  him  that  Miss 
Thornton  was  ill,  and  had  proposed  to  give  her  a  holiday 
to-morrow. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Horace,  as  if  suddenly  struck 
with  a  new  thought.  "  We'll  let  the  servants  have  a 
holiday,  too,  all  except  Fanchon,  and  we'll  play  keeping 
house." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Marjorie,  rather  startled  at  this  prop- 
osition. 

"  John  's  going  to  Hoboken,  and  Andrew 's  off  ;  there  's 
only  the  cook  left,  and  I'll  bet  you  she'd  like  to  go  out  for  a 
picnic  or  something.  And,  if  you  're  a  very  good  girl, 
I'll  take  you  down  to  Delmonico's  and  give  you  a  dinner." 

"  Would  mamma  like  it  ?  "  asked  Marjorie.  Horace's 
fit  of  amiability  made  her  feel  uncomfortable,  instinct- 
ively. 

"  Why  shouldn't  she  ?  On  second  thoughts,  I  guess 
I'll  not  let  the  cook  go.  Confound  you,  you  nasty  little  cur  ! 
what  do  you  mean  by  jumping  on  me  ?  " 

Dandy's  dinner  was  generally  given  him  at  dessert,  and 
that  being  now  upon  the  table  he  had  ventured  to  remind 
Horace  of  his  presence.  Marjorie  jumped  out  of  her 


120  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

chair,  but  not  in  time  to  arrest  the  blow,  and  poor  Dandy 
fled  crying  to  his  mistress. 

"  Let  my  little  dog  alone !  "  cried  she,  passionately,  the 
color  rushing  up  into  her  cheeks.  "  I  will  speak  to  papa 
if  you  treat  Dandy  so ;  he  didn't  mean  any  harm ;  he 
only  wanted  his  dinner." 

"  I'd  kill  him  — just  as  lief  as  not  —  only  father  might 
give  me  something  worse  than  a  boarding-school  to  pay 
for  it.  And  I'll  punish  you  on  the  spot  for  your  im- 
pudence to  me,  Miss  Irish  Beggar." 

He  caught  Dandy  up  in  his  arms  as  he  spoke,  and  ran 
out  of  the  room.  Marjorie  followed  him,  calling  wildly 
for  her  dog,  but  Horace  retreated  into  the  library,  and 
dodged  around  the  table  until  Marjorie  was  so  giddy  that 
she  could  hardly  stand.  Then,  taking  advantage  of  her 
unsteadiness,  he  evaded  her  by  a  skillful  leap,  and  was  out 
of  the  room  in  a  second,  giving  a  loud  laugh  of  triumph, 
as  he  locked  the  door  behind  him. 

Leaving  Marjorie  to  comfort  herself  as  best  she  could, 
Horace  proceeded  up-stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time,  and  de- 
posited Dandy  in  his  closet,  giving  him  a  cake  to  keep 
him  quiet.  Then  he  shut  the  closet  door,  and  went  to  the 
mantel,  where  he  took  up  the  stable  keys,  and  carefully 
shutting  up  the  outside  door  of  his  room,  he  went  down 
the  back  stairs.  On  the  way,  he  looked  into  John's  pan- 
try, where,  ordinarily,  at  this  hour,  John  would  be  en- 
gaged in  washing  the  dinner  dishes  ;  but  John's  gas  was 
turned  off,  and  John  himself  had  slipped  in  next  door  for 
a  "  quiet  cup  of  tay  "  with  the  lady's  maid,  who  was  a 
great  friend  of  his. 

"  Coast  all  clear,"  thought  Horace.  "  Won't  I  serve 
her  a  precious  trick !  " 

Below  stairs  everything  seemed  quiet.     The  cook,  like 


HORACE'S  REVENGE.  121 

John,  had  evidently  gone  out  to  see  a  neighbor  and  taken 
the  key  of  the  basement  door  with  her.  Horace  went 
out  through  the  hall  door  at  the  end  of  the  house,  and 
proceeded  slowly  to  the  stable.  It  was  about  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  growing  darker;  the  street  lamps 
were  being  lit,  over  in  Thirty-fourth  Street.  He  opened 
the  stable  door.  A  low  sound,  between  a  whine  and  a 
bark,  greeted  him. 

"  Are  you  there,  Hyder  ?  "  said  he,  feeling  his  way 
along  inside.  He  had  not  dared  to  bring  a  lantern. 
"  Poor  old  fellow !  good  dog.  Want  a  drink,  eh  ?  " 

He  loosened  the  chain  as  he  spoke,  and  a  splendid  Rus- 
sian blood-hound  bounded  upon  him  with  a  half-savage, 
half -kindly  bark.  It  was  the  dog  which  Mr.  Wylder  had 
refused  to  let  him  have,  but  Jack  Miller,  Horace's  ally, 
had  purchased  Hyder,  and  loaned  him  to  Horace  for  two 
days.  To  do  Jack  justice,  he  had  no  idea  that  the  dog 
was  to  be  used  to  torture  Marjorie ;  Horace  represented 
that  in  the  coachman's  absence  he  wanted  to  keep  him  in 
the  stable  as  a  protection  against  burglars. 

Whistling  softly,  lie  coaxed  Hyder  into  the  basement 
hall.  The  house  was  a  large  one,  and  beside  the  kitchen, 
laundry,  and  the  room  where  the  servants  dined,  there 
was  a  small  front  room  by  the  door  which  Mr.  Wylder 
formerly  used  as  a  sort  of  office.  It  Avas  still  partially 
furnished,  and  the  low  book-cases  and  office-table  re- 
mained standing  there.  Horace  opened  the  door  of  this 
room,  dragged  Hyder  inside  and  proceeded  to  tie  him  to 
the  leg  of  the  table.  The  rope  attached  to  his  collar  was 
pretty  long,  and,  as  the  room  was  small,  even  when  tied 
to  the  table,  the  dog  could  walk  about  with  comparative 
ease.  It  was  impossible  for  Hyder  to  move  the  table, 
strong  as  he  was,  for  it  was  fastened  to  the  floor,  and  Hor 


122  MARJ OKIE'S  QUEST. 

ace  nodded  his  satisfaction  as  he  completed  his  arrange- 
ments. Ordering  Hyder  to  "  lie  down  and  watch,"  he 
went  out,  and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

After  calling  Horace  vainly,  Marjorie  thought  that  she 
had  better  sit  down  and  wait  patiently  until  John  came 
up  to  light  the  gas  in  the  hall,  when  she  could  ask  him  to 
unlock  the  door.  She  did  not  think  Horace  would  dare 
to  hurt  Dandy,  and  she  listened  intently  to  see  if  she 
heard  him  crying.  She  was  dreadfully  anxious  about 
him,  though  she  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  she  was 
not,  and  it  was  an  absolute  relief  when,  after  about  half 
an  hour,  she  heard  Horace  outside  the  door. 

"Do  you  want  your  dog  very  badly  ?  "  said  he,  in  a 
tantalizing  tone.  "  I've  shut  him  up  in  a  jolly  place,  and 
you'll  have  to  go  and  get  him  out  for  yourself." 

"Do  you  mean  in  the  house  —  a  place  in  the  house  ?  " 
demanded  Marjorie,  very  much  in  fear  that  Dandy  had 
been  locked  up  in  the  stable. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  opening  the  door  and  marching  up  to 
her.  "  He  's  down  in  papa's  old  office.  Ain't  you  afraid 
to  go  down  and  get  him,  molly-coddle  ?  " 

Marjorie  fell  into  the  trap  just  as  he  had  calculated. 

"  Afraid  ?  No  indeed,  I'm  not.  Poor  little  dog,  he'll 
cry  like  everything  if  he  's  shut  up  by  himself.  Let  go  of 
my  hand,  Horace  ;  I'll  go  right  away." 

Off  started  Marjorie  for  the  stairs,  Horace  creeping 
after  her,  firing  off  taunting  speeches  and  making  shrill 
noises  which  made  the  child  jump.  The  gas  was  turned 
down  rather  low  in  the  basement  hall,  and  Marjorie  fum- 
bled a  little  with  the  knob  of  the  office  door. 

"  Here,  I'll  open  it  for  you,"  said  Horace,  coming  be- 
hind her,  and  before  the  child  could  collect  her  senses  he 
had  pushed  her  inside  and  was  bolting  the  door  on  the 
outside. 


HORACE'S  REVENGE.  123 

A  hard,  panting  breath,  two  strange  glaring  eyes,  and 
the  awful  sensation  that  something  was  in  the  room  !  One 
wild  scream  of  agony  broke  from  the  terrified  Mar- 
jorie  :  — 

"  Horace  !  John  —  O,  come  !  Let  me  out  —  O  !  "  —  a 
prolonged  shriek. 

"  How  do  you  like  my  dog  ?  "  called  Horace,  banging 
on  the  door,  with  a  brutal  laugh.  "  Better  be  civil  to 
him  ;  he  hasn't  had  any  dinner  and  there  's  no  knowing 
what  ho  might  do." 

This  was  a  falsehood,  but  it  answered  the  purpose. 
Marjorie  beat  the  door  with  her  little  soft  hands.  "  Let 
me  out,"  prayed  the  sobbing  breath.  "I  will  be  good; 
please  Horace." 

"  Go  and  tell  of  me  again,  will  you  ?  "  mimicking  her. 

"  Fanchon  !  Fanchon  !  "  shrieked  the  child. 

"  You  may  just  call  till  you're  blue,  Miss.  I'm  going 
to  leave  you  for  the  night,  and  John  and  the  cook  are  out. 
Good-by,  Paddy ;  you  and  Hyder  can  settle  it  between 
yourselves." 

Two  hours  after  (during  which  time  he  sat  quaking 
guiltily  up-stairs,  expecting  every  moment  to  see  John's 
indignant  face  appear)  Horace  concluded  that  it  might 
be  as  well  to  let  his  little  prisoner  out.  He  was  a  little 
curious  how  the  fright  would  affect  her,  and  felt  a  cow- 
ardly throb  of  fear  lest  he  should  find  her  in  a  dead  faint 
on  the  floor.  He  opened  the  door ;  Hyder  sprang  out, 
with  a  bound  that  nearly  upset  him. 

"  The  deuce  ! "  shouted  Horace.  "  How  did  you  dare 
to  untie  him?  Or  did  he  break  the  rope —  yes,  by  Jove ! 
gnawed  it  off,  I  swear.  Marjorie,  come  out !  " 

No  answer.     Again  the  idea  of  a  fainting  fit  occurred 


124  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

to  him.  There  was  no  stir  or  sound  in  the  room.  He 
took  a  match  from  his  pocket  and  lit  the  gas,  stared 
about  —  then  rubbed  his  eyes.  A  breath  of  air  floated 
across  his  forehead  from  the  window  above  the  book-case. 
The  room  was  empty ;  Marjorie  was  gone  I 


IN  EXTREMITY.  125 


CHAPTER  XL 

IN  EXTREMITY. 

TT^OR  some  moments  after  the  sound  of  Horace's  retreat- 
-•-  ing  footsteps  died  away,  Marjorie  lay  crouching 
against  the  door  almost  paralyzed  with  the  agony  of  her 
terror.  The  room  was  sufficiently  light,  from  the  street 
gas,  for  her  to  see  Hyder  as  he  walked  round  and  round 
the  table,  growling  occasionally,  and  turning  his  fierce 
eyes  toward  her.  She  hardly  dared  to  breathe  lest  she 
should  enrage  the  dog,  who,  she  fully  believed,  would 
tear  her  to  pieces  and  make  a  meal  of  her,  if  he  was  as 
hungry  as  Horace  said.  At  last  a  plan  of  escape  dawned 
faintly  upon  her  bewildered  mind.  If  she  could  only  get 
the  window  open  and  call  a  policeman ;  Regie  had  told 
her,  once,  that  if  she  ever  got  into  any  trouble  in  a  city 
she  must  go  to  a  policeman.  She  knew  the  uniform ; 
there  was  a  nice  looking  man,  with  light,  curly  hair,  who 
walked  up  and  down  the  street  in  the  day  time  ;  perhaps 
she  might  make  him  hear,  and  get  him  to  take  her  out. 
So  thinking,  she  raised  herself  a  little  from  the  floor,  to 
look  around  and  see  how  she  could  reach  the  window. 

There  were  no  chairs  in  the  room,  and  the  sofa  was 
quite  too  low  to  be  of  any  service.  The  book-case  stood 
immediately  under  the  window,  which  was  very  high, 
and  the  lower  part  of  the  sash  was  partly  covered  by  the 
book-case.  Still,  Marjorie  thought  that  she  might  open 
the  window  at  the  top  if  she  could  only  get  to  it.  As 
her  eyes  became  gradually  accustomed  to  the  dim  light, 


126  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

she  saw  that  there  was  a  small  pile  of  packing  boxes 
standing  in  the  corner,  against  one  end  of  the  book-case ; 
once  on  top  of  those,  she  felt  confident  that  she  could 
climb  the  distance  by  swinging  herself  up  by  her  arms. 
But  the  packing  cases  were  perilously  near  Hyder's  prom- 
enade-ground ;  would  he  spring  at  her  and  knock  her 
down  if  she  got  within  that  range  ? 

Slowly,  step  by  step,  Marjorie  crept  along,  not  daring 
to  take  her  eyes  off  Hyder.  The  dog  seemed  to  be  aware 
that  she  meditated  an  escape,  for  he  growled  menac- 
ingly, and  showed  his  desire  to  get  away  from  the  table 
by  several  jumps,  and  hard  tugs  at  his  rope.  But  she 
reached  the  packing  boxes  at  last,  and  began  to  climb  up 
them.  That  was  comparatively  easy  work,  and  at  last, 
hot  and  trembling,  Marjorie  clambered  up  on  the  smooth, 
level  top  of  the  book-case.  Hyder  yelped,  lashed  his  tail, 
and  pulled  more  savagely  than  ever  at  his  rope  ;  it  was 
well  for  the  child  that  she  could  not  see  how  far  the  leash 
had  given  way.  It  was  but  an  old  one,  at  the  best,  which 
Horace  had  found  in  the  stable,  and  had  taken  instead  of 
the  chain.  Hyder  felt  the  rope  slacken,  and  redoubled 
his  efforts  to  break  loose,  but  Marjorie's  back  was  turned 
to  him.  She  was  trying  to  find  the  catch  of  the  window 
and  push  it  back,  but,  from  long  disuse  the  spring  was 
rusty,  and  it  took  some  time  to  move  it.  Then  Marjorie 
began  to  pull  at  the  sash  with  all  her  might ;  it  was  very 
stiff,  but  at  last  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  it  move 
slowly  down. 

She  pushed  it,  hard,  and  the  air,  hot  as  it  was,  seemed 
grateful  to  her.  The  room  was  stifling,  and  her  violent 
exertion  had  nearly  exhausted  her.  So,  before  calling 
"  Police,"  as  she  had  meant  to  do,  she  paused  to  rest, 
and  the  pause  was  fatal  to  her.  Hyder  had  broken 


IN   EXTEEMITY.  127 

his  rope,  and  with  a  growl  he  bounded  over  to  the  pack- 
ing cases. 

Marjorie  looked  behind  her,  and  saw  the  dog's  fierce 
eyes,  and  heard  his  panting  breath  ;  she  was  too  terrified 
to  realize  that  he  could  come  no  farther:  she  gave  a 
frantic  scream,  tried  to  raise  herself  from  her  half-kneel- 
ing position,  then  lost  her  balance,  suddenly,  and  fell  for- 
ward, through  the  half-opened  window,  down,  down, 
against  the  steps.  A  crash  —  a  blinding  pain  ;  and  Mar- 
jorie lay  still  and  senseless  on  the  flagging. 

Policeman  Rooney  was  on  duty  that  night.  The  curly- 
haired  policeman,  whom  Marjorie  had  seen,  was  ill,  and 
Tim  Rooney  had  taken  his  place.  Now  Tim  had  been 
making  a  visit  at  the  grocery  on  the  corner  of  Third 
Avenue,  and  had  partaken  largely  of  "  rale  home-brewed 
poteen,"  and  his  sight  was  not  reliable,  although  his  walk 
was  steady  enough,  as  he  came  back  down  Thirty -fifth 
Street.  There  were  not  many  people  stirring  until  he 
got  to  Lexington  Avenue,  and  there,  only  a  group  of 
young  men  smoking  and  laughing  on  the  corner.  Far- 
ther along,  between  Fourth  and  Madison,  he  saw  two 
shop  girls,  and  was  so  taken  up  in  trying  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  bright  black  eyes  of  one  of  them  that  he 
scarcely  noticed  a  ragged  old  woman  who  hurried  past 
him,  carrying  something  in  her  arms.  That  was  an 
unlucky  glass  of  poteen  for  you,  Tim  Rooney  ;  if  you  had 
only  known  what  that  old  beggar  was  hiding  it  would 
have  been  worth  some  hundreds  of  dollars  reward  to  you, 
a  few  days  later. 

A  few  seconds  after  Marjorie's  fall,  it  chanced  that  a 
street  beggar  turned  into  the  little  gate,  and  went  down 
the  basement  steps.  Old  Moll,  as  she  called  herself,  was 
a  beggar  by  trade,  but  Thirty-fifth  Street  was  rather  out 


128  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

of  her  usual  range,  and  being  hot  and  tired,  she  merely 
thought  she  could  sit  down  on  the  steps  and  rest,  pru- 
dently getting  out  of  sight  of  a  passing  policeman. 

"  An'  what  may  that  be  ?  "  said  she  to  herself,  as  she 
saw  Marjorie's  white  dress.  "  Is  it  a  child  ?  begorra, 
thin,  it 's  a  dead  one.  I'll  not  tech  her." 

Old  Moll  was  just  about  turning  away,  when  a  gleam 
of  the  gas-lamp  fell  on  the  string  of  gold  beads  on  Mar- 
jorie's neck.  Cupidity  and  avarice  were  Moll's  strongest 
passions,  except  her  love  for  whiskey,  and  she  ventured 
down  the  steps  again  and  picked  Marjorie  up.  The 
child's  limbs  twitched  as  Moll  touched  her;  evidently, 
she  was  living. 

Moll  debated  a  moment  what  to  do.  She  looked  up  at 
the  house;  it  was  closed,  even  the  basement  door  was 
locked.  How  the  child  got  there  in  this  state  was  a 
question  which  Moll  did  not  care  to  investigate ;  there 
were  the  gold  beads,  and  soft,  fine  clothes,  which  would 
sell  for  a  pretty  penny  at  the  pawnbroker's,  and  beside, 
there  was  Paddy  Rourke  who  was  always  wanting  chil- 
dren to  "  adopt."  He'd  pay  her  for  bringing  him  one, 
and  if  the  child  was  hurt,  and  died,  "  sure  dead  folks  tells 
no  tales,"  thought  Moll,  "  an'  there 's  the  East  River 
quite  convanyant." 

Marjorie's  fate  was  decided  by  that  recollection.  Moll 
produced  an  old,  ragged  shawl  from  some  hidden  recep- 
tacle about  her  person,  in  which  she  wrapped  the  senseless 
form  of  the  child,  first  taking  the  precaution  to  unclasp 
the  beads  and  put  them  in  her  bosom.  She  was  quite 
secure  from  observation  all  this  time,  as  she  crouched 
close  by  the  basement  door,  under  the  stone  steps  which 
led  up  to  the  front  door  of  the  mansion.  And  then  she 
lifted  Marjorie's  light  form  in  her  skinny  arms,  and  went 
stealthily  down  towards  the  East  River. 


IN   EXTREMITY.  129 

Moll  had  to  stop  and  rest,  and  wipe  the  perspiration 
off  her  dirty  face  several  times  before  she  reached  the 
tenement  she  called  hers.  It  was  located  in  an  alley  in 
one  of  the  worst  quarters  of  the  city,  where  pestilence 
lurked  and  throve  on  the  garbage  of  the  streets  and  dirt 
of  the  inhabitants ;  where  the  landlords  crowded  more 
luckless  souls  into  one  house  than  it  would  seem  possible 
could  exist  there.  Moll's  room,  in  one  of  these  broken- 
down  hovels,  was  in  the  fourth  story  ;  there  was  even  a 
flight  above  that,  if  anything,  more  squalid  and  miserable 
than  the  last.  Moll  toiled  up  the  stairs,  swearing  under 
her  breath,  and  giving  vent  to  a  torrent  of  oaths  as  she 
stumbled  over  some  one  who  was  lying  stretched  out  on 
the  floor  inside  her  door. 

"  Keep  a  civil  tongue  in  yer  head,  gran,"  said  the  girl, 
rising.  "  Leave  off  cursing,  this  hot  night.  Not  a  breath 
can  I  get,  sure  ;  I  belave  I'll  go  into  the  streets." 

"  Hold  }^er  gab.  Nancy  ;  gi'  me  a  light,  till  I  see  what 
I'm  going  to  do  wid  this  young  'un." 

Nancy  stumbled  across  the  room,  and  after  a  moment's 
fumbling,  lit  a  tallow  dip  and  came  back  to  the  spot 
where  Moll  had  deposited  her  burden.  The  flickering, 
dim  light  fell  upon  Marjorie's  little  pale  face  and  golden 
hair ;  upon  a  ghastly  streak  of  blood  across  her  forehead. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  !  "  cried  Nancy,  dropping  down  on 
her  knees  beside  her.  "  She  looks  like  Jim  —  even  the 
very  mark  he  had  whin  the  blow  came  that  killed  him. 
O,  my  poor  boy  !  —  what  divil's  work  is  you  up  to  now, 
eh?" 

The  last  remark  was  uttered  in  a  savage  voice,  and  she 
gripped  Moll's  arm  fiercely  as  she  spoke. 

"  Whist,  now,"  said  Moll,  in  more  soothing  accents 
than  might  have  been  expected,  and  glanced  half  fear- 
9 


130  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

fully  with  her  bleared  eyes  into  Nancy's  excited  face. 
"  I'm  only  doing  her  good,  sure.  It 's  a  fall  she  had,  an' 
I  brought  her  home,  for  you  to  take  care  of." 

"  A  fall  ?  "  said  Nancy,  suspiciously.  "  It 's  a  quare 
fall,  I'm  thinking,  as  would  knock  her  sinsless  like  that." 

"  I  swear  it 's  the  truth,"  said  Moll,  enforcing  her  re- 
mark by  a  string  of  curses.  "  It 's  not  hurt  so  bad  she  is, 
perhaps ;  you  look  an'  see." 

Nancy  had  by  this  time  gotten  some  water  in  an  old 
tin  pan,  and  was  bathing  Marjorie's  forehead  with  a  rag, 
very  gently  and  softly.  The  girl's  face  wore  a  more 
humanized  expression,  and  something  like  a  tear  glittered 
in  her  eye  as  she  raised  her  head. 

"  I  don't  think  she  's  kilt ;  there 's  a  cut  here,  as  long  as 
me  finger,  on  her  head.  Hould  her,  Moll,  an'  I'll  go 
down  for  some  ice,  round  the  corner,  and  put  it  ontil  her." 

Marjorie  moaned,  and  opened  her  eyes  for  a  moment, 
but  presently  shut  them  again,  and  returned  to  her  stupe- 
fied state.  Nancy  went  to  the  old  bureau,  standing  in  one 
corner,  and  found  a  few  pennies  which  she  had  hidden 
there,  and  bidding  old  Moll  "  take  care  of  the  child,"  she 
clattered  down  the  rickety  stairs  in  hot  haste. 

While  she  was  gone,  Moll  improved  her  opportunity 
and  hid  the  gold  beads  away  safely  in  a  hole  in  her  straw 
bed.  Then  she  took  off  Marjorie's  dress,  and  her  fine 
embroidered  petticoats,  and  leaving  the  child  in  her 
little  chemise  and  drawers,  laid  her  on  the  bed.  She  un- 
laced her  boots  (they  were  bronze  kid,  and  Moll  knew 
she  could  sell  them),  and  putting  them  in  her  apron  she 
stole  stealthily  down-stairs,  leaving  Marjorie  alone. 

Nancy  was  gone  perhaps  fifteen  minutes,  and  when  she 
came  back,  bringing  some  ice  in  a  bowl,  she  was  accom- 
panied by  a  singular  looking  man.  "  Gentleman  Roddy," 


IN   EXTREMITY.  131 

as  he  was  called,  had  evidently  fallen  very  far  from  his 
former  position  in  life.  He  was  held  in  some  esteem  by 
his  associates,  as  a  doctor,  and  (when  sober)  had  been 
known  to  cure  the  different  sick  people  who  came  under 
his  care  in  Randall's  Alley.  He  was  a  man  of  forty-five, 
but  looked  much  older,  and  although  his  whiskers  were 
brown,  his  hair  was  nearly  white.  He  wore  it  long,  and 
took  great  pride  in  his  white  locks,  and  they,  alone,  were 
sufficient  to  attract  attention  from  a  casual  observer. 
How  he  lived  nobody  knew,  but  as  he  had  never  been 
concerned  in  any  of  the  burglaries  by  which  his  associates 
gained  a  precarious  livelihood,  he  was  generally  supposed 
to  be  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods,  and  by  his  knowledge  of 
the  upper  walks  of  life  to  dispose  of  them  without  detec- 
tion. 

"  This  is  the  little  girl — me  dead  sister's  child,"  said 
Nancy,  glibly,  lifting  Marjorie  in  her  arms.  "  An'  it 's  a 
bad  fall  she  got,  down  the  stairs  and  hurted  her  head.  I 
was  frightened  most  to  death  whin  I  see  her  laying  there ; 
an'  says  I,  '  Moll,  do  you  mind  her,  an'  I'll  run  for  Gen- 
tleman Roddy.'  It 's  lucky  I  was  to  run  agin  ye  at  the 
shop." 

While  she  was  talking,  Nancy  was  cutting  away  the 
soft  yellow  hair  from  the  cut  on  Marjorie's  head,  and  now 
she  looked  anxiously  up  into  Gentleman  Roddy's  face  to 
read  his  opinion. 

"  A  bad  cut,"  said  that  personage,  in  a  voice  which, 
though  thick  from  liquor,  was  a  refined  voice  enough. 
"  She  's  saved  herself  by  a  narrow  shave  ;  I'll  sew  it  up." 
And  infinitely  to  Nancy's  surprise,  Gentleman  Roddy 
took  out  a  case  of  well  worn  surgical  instruments,  and 
began  to  use  them  with  no  small  degree  of  skill. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  child  had  a  serious  fit  of 


132  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

illness,"  said  he,  looking  at  her  carefully.  "  And  I  don't 
know  how  she'll  come  out  of  it.  It 's  a  bad  flesh  wound ; 
her  head  isn't  injured,  and  very  possibly  the  loss  of 
blood  will  do  her  no  harm.  You  just  keep  ice  on  her, 
and  come  after  me  to-morrow  —  if  I  don't  have  a  fit  of 
del.  trem.  I'll  prescribe  for  her." 

"  Couldn't  ye  kape  away  from  the  drink  ?  "  said  Nancy. 
"  It 's  a  fine  doctor  is  spoiled  in  ye,  I'm  thinking." 

A  shade  crossed  the  man's  face.  "  None  of  that,  my 
girl,"  said  he  roughly.  "  I  didn't  ask  your  story,  and 
you've  no  interest  in  mine." 

"  I  ax  your  parding,  sir,"  said  Nancy,  involuntarily. 

"  No  matter,"  said  he,  returning  to  his  ordinary  tone 
of  easy  good-nature.  "  Your  sister's  child,  eh  ?  That 's 
rather  nice  looking  linen  ;  is  your  sister  well  off  ?  " 

Nancy  colored,  and  changed  her  position  uneasily. 

"  You'd  better  not  let  Moll  get  hold  of  that  garment," 
said  Gentleman  Roddy.  "  You're  a  good-hearted  girl, 
Nancy.  Here  's  something  for  ice,"  and  he  put  a  little 
money  in  her  hand. 

"  Thank  ye,  kindly,"  said  Nancy  hoarsely.  "  I'll  take 
care  of  her,  never  fear.  She  looks  like  my  Jim  —  poor 
boy!" 

"  I  never  knew  you  had  a  child,"  said  he,  surveying 
the  agitated  face  before  him. 

"  'Dade  but  I  had,"  burst  out  Nancy.  "  A  pretty,  blue- 
eyed  little  fellow,  only  three  years  old  whin  —  it  hap- 
pened. My  man  is  Moll's  grandson,  an'  he  never  could 
abear  the  sight  of  the  child  —  I  don't  know  why.  An' 
Jim  always  got  out  of  his  way  ;  he  was  cute,  he  was. 
But  one  night  whin  Moll  and  my  man  was  after  a  big 
spree,  little  Jim  come  creeping  along  the  floor,  an'  Moll, 
she  stumbled  over  him,  and  "  —  Nancy's  voice  sank  into 


IN   EXTREMITY.  133 

a  fierce  whisper  —  "his  father  tuck  up  the  stool  an'  hit 
him  a  crack  across  the  head  wid  it.  He  just  laid  two 
days  like  that,"  pointing  to  Marjorie,  "  and  the  third 
day  he  opened  his  two  blue  eyes  at  me.  '  Mammy,'  says 
he  —  an'  died.  I'm  not  rightly  in  my  head  sometimes 
since  ; "  and  Nancy  looked  piteously  up  into  Gentleman 
Roddy's  face. 

"  Mind  you  take  care  of  this  one,"  said  he,  turning 
away  quickly.  "  I'll  be  on  hand  to-morrow." 

Nancy,  with  unusual  politeness,  opened  the  door  for 
him,  and  held  the  tallow  candle  above  her  head  as  he 
went  down  the  dark  stairs.  After  he  had  gone,  she  came 
back  into  the  room  and  sat  down  by  Marjorie's  side. 
Hours  after,  old  Moll  came  home  in  a  state  of  maudlin 
drunkenness,  and  wept  bitterly  as  she  lay  prone  on  the 
floor,  because  Nancy  "  thought  more  of  that  brat  than 
she  did  of  her  old  granny,"  and,  finally,  fell  into  the 
stupor  of  intoxication.  All  night  long  Nancy  sat  bathing 
Marjorie's  head  and  face,  with  the  same  strangely  gentle 
hands,  and  when  morning  dawned  it  found  her  still  at 
her  chosen  post  beside  the  unconscious  child. 


134  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER  XH. 

REGIE  SPEAKS   HIS   MIND. 

"  T  OST.  —  On  the  evening  of  August  20,  from  No.  — 
J— ^  West  Thirty-fifth  Street,  a  little  girl  about  eleven 
years  of  age,  named  Marjorie.  Rather  small,  with  fair 
complexion,  gray  eyes,  and  golden  hair ;  was  dressed  in 
white,  with  a  blue  sash,  and  a  string  of  gold  beads  around 
her  neck.  A  large  reward  will  be  paid  for  any  informa- 
tion in  regard  to  her,  by  John  Wylder,  Broker,  57 
Wall  Street." 

This  advertisement  had  appeared  in  all  the  principal 
papers  in  New  York,  but,  although  three  weeks  had 
slipped  away  since  Marjorie's  disappearance,  no  clew  had 
yet  been  found  to  unravel  the  mystery  of  her  fate.  And 
Mr.  Wylder  sat  in  his  office  down  town  with  a  graver 
and  paler  face  than  ever,  and  consulted  the  best  de- 
tectives, in  vain ;  while  Mrs.  Wylder  roamed  restlessly 
around  her  house  and  bemoaned  "  that  dear  child  "  to 
Fanchon,  a  dozen  tunes  a  day. 

Horace  had  managed  matters  very  cleverly.  After 
closing  the  window  through  which  the  poor  child  had 
fallen,  he  took  Hyder  back  to  the  stable  and  chained  him 
for  the  night,  resolving  to  return  him  to  Jack  Miller  very 
early  in  the  morning.  Then  he  went  into  the  basement, 
opened  the  door,  and  reconnoitered  the  area  and  the  front 
steps.  But,  as  Marjorie  was  already  blocks  away  under 
old  Moll's  shawl,  of  course  he  discovered  no  traces  of  her. 
Seeing  Tim  Rooney  walking  up  and  down  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  he  crossed  over  and  interrogated  the 


REGIE   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND.  135 

policeman,  saying  that  the  little  girl  must  have  slipped 
out  while  he  was  up-stairs.  But  "  sorra  a  gir-rl "  had 
Tim  seen,  he  declared ;  and  Horace,  by  this  time  feeling 
guilty  and  miserable  enough,  sneaked  back  into  the  house 
and  went  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  he  was  awakened  by  loud  screams. 
They  proceeded  from  Fanchon,  who  had  gone  into  Mar- 
jorie's  little  room,  and  was  terrified  to  find  it  empty.  The 
bed  had  not  been  slept  in,  and  John  said  that  Mam'selle 
was  not  down-stairs  when  he  shut  up  the  house  last  night, 
—  what  had  Master  Horace  done  with  la  pauvre  enfant  ? 
Master  Horace  flew  into  a  rage  at  the  question.  What 
had  he  to  do  with  the  Irish  brat,  he'd  like  to  know  ?  Was 
it  not  Fanchon's  place  to  look  after  her,  and  where  had 
she  been  last  evening  ?  Gallivanting  with  the  cook,  no 
doubt ;  just  wait  until  papa  and  mamma  came  home,  and 
see  what  they  would  say  to  such  doings  in  the  house. 

Fanchon,  with  tears  and  sobs,  protested  that  Mam'selle 
very  seldom  had  her  at  night,  now ;  she,  the  capable, 
preferred  to  put  herself  asleep,  —  Madame  had  so  di- 
rected. And  had  not  she,  Fanchon,  been  without  sense 
because  of  her  horrible  malady  of  the  teeth  ?  was  she 
not  compelled  to  resort  to  medicine  dangerous  for  relief  ? 
Never,  never  again  would  she  do  it,  —  alas  !  la  pauvre 
enfant,  the  one  friend  of  Fanchon  in  the  maison,  except 
Monsieur.  It  was  not  like  Mam'selle  to  go  thus  alone  ; 
she  would  run  for  ze  police,  —  aye,  this  moment. 

But  Horace  told  her  fiercely  that  he  would  attend  to 
that  part  of  it,  and  questioned  the  two  other  servants 
closely  as  to  the  last  time  they  had  seen  Marjorie. 

John  said  that  when  he  was  lighting  the  gas  in  the 
hall,  he  had  heard  Marjorie  call  him  from  the  library, 
but  on  going  to  the  door  he  found  that  she  was  locked 


136  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

in —  Here  John  paused  and  looked  at  Horace,  who 
turned  pale  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  look  unconcerned. 

"  Yes,"  said  Horace,  trying  to  carry  off  the  matter 
with  a  bold  face,  "  she  was  saucy  and  impudent  to  me 
at  dinner,  and  I  locked  her  up  awhile  as  a  punishment. 
The  last  time  I  saw  her,  she  was  going  down  the  base- 
ment stairs  to  look  for  Dandy.  Now,  John,  get  my 
breakfast,  and  after  that  I'll  go  out  and  speak  to  a  po- 
liceman." 

Fanchon  was  at  her  wit's  end.  She  talked  the  matter 
over  with  John  and  the  cook  at  least  a  dozen  times  that 
morning,  but  the  more  they  said  the  less  intelligible  it 
grew.  The  excitable  and  warm-hearted  Frenchwoman 
had  become  warmly  attached  to  Marjorie,  and  she  was 
really  in  deep  distress  and  anxiety  about  the  child.  And 
although  she  had  sense  enough  not  to  relate  her  suspi- 
cions to  the  other  servants,  she  made  up  her  mind  that 
Master  Horace  knew  more  of  the  cause  of  Marjorie's  dis- 
appearance than  he  chose  to  admit'. 

Horace's  first  move,  after  his  breakfast,  was  to  go 
around  to  Jack  Miller's  and  ask  him  to  come  for  Hyder. 
Andrew,  the  coachman,  was  coming  back  with  the  horses 
that  day,  and  it  was  necessary  to  remove  the  dog  before 
his  return,  as  he  might  inform  Mr.  Wylder  of  his  having 
been  in  the  stable  against  his  orders. 

Fate  seemed  to  favor  Horace,  for  Jack  came  right  over 
and  led  Hyder  away  just  as  Andrew  and  the  horses  came 
up  to  the  stable.  But  whatever  movement  Horace  might 
have  made  in  regard  to  putting  Marjorie's  disappearance 
in  the  hands  of  the  police  was  frustrated,  for,  as  he  came 
around  through  the  alley,  after  seeing  Jack  and  Hyder 
safely  off  the  premises,  he  saw  a  carriage  draw  up  in 
front  of  the  door,  from  which  alighted  his  father  and 
mother. 


REGIE   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND.  137 

What  Horace  did  in  this  sudden  emergency  was  to  rush 
up  to  them  both,  and  before  his  mother  could  get  inside 
the  door,  which  John  was  holding  open  for  her,  he  ex- 
claimed :  "  O  mamma !  Marjorie  's  been  missing  ever 
since  last  night,  and  nobody  knows  where  she  's  gone." 

There  ensued  a  regular  scene,  just  as  Horace  had  in- 
tended. Fanchon  flew  down  to  her  mistress,  and  began 
to  tell  the  story  of  her  toothache  and  the  chloroform,  and 
Mrs.  Wylder  considered  that  hysterics  was  the  proper 
thing  under  the  circumstances,  so  she  tottered  into  the 
nearest  room  and  went  off  into  a  regular  turn  of  her  fa- 
vorite malady.  Mr.  Wylder  vainly  endeavored  to  make 
himself  heard  in  the  Babel,  and  at  last,  taking  Horace  by 
the  shoulder,  he  walked  with  him  into  the  library,  and 
shutting  the  door,  demanded  what  it  was  all  about  ? 

"  Why,  it  's  just  that,  sir,"  said  Horace,  weighing  his 
words,  and  trembling  with  fear  lest  he  should  be  found 
out.  "  Marjorie  disappeared  last  night  in  the  most  mys- 
terious way.  Fanchon  supposed  she  was  with  me,  and  I 
was  in  my  room  ;  and  she  did  not,  to  my  knowledge, 
come  up-stairs  after  dinner." 

"  Horace,"  said  his  father,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  him 
sternly,  "  what  did  you  have  to  do  with  Marjorie's  leav- 
ing the  house  ?  She  never  goes  out  alone  (your  mother 
forbade  it),  and  she  is  always  obedient ;  there  must  be 
some  strange  cause  for  such  a  singular  act  on  her  part." 

Horace  flinched  at  the  look,  but  his  father's  further  re- 
marks gave  him  time  to  think. 

"  You  are  always  unjust  to  me,"  cried  he,  passionately. 
"  I  don't  see  what  I  had  to  do  with  it,  —  it  wasn't  my 
place  to  look  after  her.  She  was  very  saucy  to  me  at 
dinner,  and  after  dessert  I  locked  her  up  in  the  library 
for  half  an  hour  as  punishment,  and  then  I  came  down 


138  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

and  let  her  out ;  and  the  last  time  I  saw  her,  she  was  go- 
ing down  the  basement  stairs  looking  for  Dandy.  I  sup- 
pose she  must  have  gone  out  of  the  area  door." 

Horace  spoke  boldly,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  telling  part  of  the  truth,  and  forestalling  John's 
story  of  his  having  locked  Marjorie  up.  Mr.  Wylder's 
face  relaxed  its  sternness.  He  took  up  his  hat. 

"  Then,  if  that  is  the  whole  story,  I  shall  go  and  in- 
form the  police  immediately,  and  offer  a  large  reward  for 
information  through  the  newspapers." 

Before  he  went  out,  however,  Mr.  "Wylder  called  all 
the  servants  into  the  library  separately.  The  cook  de- 
posed that  she  had  gone  out,  taking  the  key  of  the  area 
door  with  her,  as  usual,  but  leaving  the  door  unlocked, 
returning  home  about  eleven  o'clock,  when  John  admitted 
her.  John  said  that,  after  his  dinner  dishes  were  washed, 
he  went  in  next  door  "  for  a  dish  of  tea  with  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton's maid,  sir,"  and  that  he  left  the  door  shut,  of  course, 
but  fastened  by  the  night-latch,  supposing  that  Fanchon 
would  be  down-stairs  and  admit  him  as  the  cook  was  out. 
When  he  came  back  at  half -past  ten,  having  knocked 
several  times,  he  supposed  that  Fanchon  had  gone  to  bed, 
so  he  rang  the  door-bell,  and  Mr.  Horace  admitted  him, 
and  scolded  him  for  being  out  when  the  cook  was  also 
absent.  And  that  was  all  John  had  to  say  ;  he  heard 
Miss  Marjorie  call  him  from  the  library,  but  could  not 
open  the  door,  as  Mr.  Horace  had  taken  the  key  away, 
and  he  did  not  see  Miss  Marjorie  after  that. 

The  police  officer  whom  Mr.  Wylder  brought  back 
with  him,  having  heard  all  that  the  servants  could  tell, 
asked  to  look  at  the  basement  door.  The  knob  was  low, 
and  turned  easily,  the  night-latch,  of  course,  being  a  fast- 
ening from  the  outside  of  the  door  ;  it  was  quite  possible 


EEGIE   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND.  139 

that  Marjorie  could  have  opened  the  door  without  assist- 
ance and  gone  out.  The  case  was  extremely  mysterious, 
the  detective  said,  but  if  the  child  had  only  strayed  away, 
she  might  have  been  taken  to  some  police  station,  and,  in 
that  case,  they  would  soon  recover  her.  He  noted  down 
all  the  particulars  in  his  memoranda,  took  an  accurate 
description  of  Marjorie's  personal  appearance,  and  one  of 
her  photographs  (a  similar  one  to  those  she  had  sent 
Judge  Gray),  and  went  away,  promising  to  look  in  at 
evening  and  report. 

But  three  weeks  passed  away,  and  no  intelligence  had 
been  received  of  little  Marjorie.  Every  measure  that 
could  be  taken  toward  her  discovery  had  been  tried,  but 
her  fate  remained  a  mystery.  They  had  hoped  to  trace 
her  through  the  gold  beads,  but  no  such  article  had  been 
found  at  any  of  the  numerous  establishments  where  pro- 
fessional thieves  dispose  of  their  plunder.  The  detect- 
ives' theory  was  that  the  child  had  been  kidnapped  and 
probably  carried  away  to  some  other  city,  and  they  rested 
their  hopes  of  finding  her  upon  the  large  reward  that  Mr. 
Wylder  had  offered. 

Mr.  Wylder  after  a  fortnight's  search  for  the  missing 
child,  had  thought  it  but  right  to  inform  Judge  Gray  of 
all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  which  he  did  in  a  very 
feeling  letter,  telling  how  Marjorie  had  endeared  herself 
to  him,  and  how  lonely  his  home  was  without  the  pres- 
ence of  one  that  he  had  hoped  would  be  as  a  daughter  to 
him  in  place  of  the  one  he  had  lost.  Judge  Gray,  at 
the  time  the  letter  reached  him,  was  spending  a  few  days 
among  the  White  Mountains  at  the  little  village  where 
Regie  had  been  gaining  health  and  strength  for  the  past 
six  weeks,  and  Mr.  Wylder's  letter  came  with  a  package 
of  others,  one  of  which  concerned  Marjorie. 


140  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Judge  Gray  was  sitting  with  Regie  when  the  mail 
came  in,  and  thinking  that  perhaps  Mr.  Wylder's  letter 
contained  an  inclosure  from  Marjorie,  he  opened  it  first. 
An  exclamation  of  surprise  and  sorrow  escaped  him  as 
he  ran  his  eye  over  its  contents. 

'•'  What  is  it,  papa  ?  "  asked  Regie,  raising  his  eyes 
from  his  book. 

"  What  a  terrible  thing !  I  have  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Wylder  about  Marjorie,  poor  child; — read  it  yourself 
and  see  what  he  says." 

Regie  seized  the  letter,  read  it  over  hastily,  then 
turned  back  and  read  it  again,  as  if  he  could  hardly 
believe  his  eyes,  and  finally,  looking  up  at  his  father's 
face,  and  seeing  only  sorrow  and  pity  written  there,  he 
dropped  his  head  on  his  folded  arms,  and  with  all  his 
manliness,  sobbed  aloud. 

"Don't  give  up,  my  boy,"  said  Judge  Gray,  tears 
standing  in  his  own  bright  eyes.  "  I  hope  that  Mr. 
Wylder  is  too  desponding,  and  that  we  may  yet  see  the 
child,  all  safe,  in  New  York." 

"  But  just  think  of  it,"  said  Regie,  in  a  husky  voice. 
"  She  may  be  with  bad  people  who  will  treat  her  cruelly 
—  beat  her,  as  that  Judy  did.  My  poor,  loving,  little 
Madge !  "  and  down  went  his  head  again. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  papa,"  said  he,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments ;  "  there 's  no  use  of  my  staying  here  any  longer. 
I  am  a  great  deal  stronger,  and  if  you  are  going  down 
to  New  York  —  don't  say  a  word,  papa,  I  see  it  in  your 
face  —  if  you're  going,  why  you  can  just  take  me  with 
you,  and  let  Meta  go  home  with  Aunt  Rachel." 

Judge  Gray  looked  at  the  pleading,  animated  face  re- 
flectingly  before  he  answered.  Rex  was  almost  himself 
again,  the  doctor  said,  and  the  weather  was  reasonably 


REGIE    SPEAKS   HIS   MIND.  141 

cool  for  September;  he  could  go  to  Boston,  and  from 
there  by  easy  stages  to  New  York,  taking  Rex  home  by 
boat ;  the  boy  would  fret  and  worry  himself  terribly  if 
left  with  Aunt  Rachel,  and  his  father  never  liked  to  be 
absent  without  him  when  he  could  have  his  society. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he  kindly  ;  "  if  you  will  keep  early 
hours  and  try  not  to  get  excited  and  hurt  yourself,  I  will 
consent.  But  before  we  make  arrangements  for  leaving, 
let  me  read  my  letters,  and  you  can  run  down  and  tell 
Meta  and  Aunt  Rachel  about  poor  Marjorie." 

Regie  went,  and  Judge  Gray  unfolded  his  packet  of 
letters,  and  began  to  read  them.  The  last  of  all  was  a 
foreign  letter,  and  as  Judge  Gray  turned  to  the  signature 
he  found  that  it  was  "  Barry  &  Williams,  Solicitors." 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  We  have  delayed  answering  yours  of 
the  21st  of  May  on  account  of  the  absence  of  our  senior 
partner,  who  would  be  better  informed  as  to  the  matter 
of  former  clients  than  we  are.  Having  handed  your  copy 
of  our  note,  signed  '  Barry  &  Williams,'  to  him,  he  looked 
over  some  old  memoranda,  and  replies  as  follows  :  — 

"  The  only  Dr.  Rodman  of  whom  he  has  any  recollec- 
tion was  a  gentleman  who  forwarded  money  drafts  for 
Mrs.  M.  Herv6*,  a  French  lady,  whose  address  at  that 
time  was  in  the  Strand  —  Mr.  Barry  is  unable. to  say 
what  number  ;  the  paper  containing  it  has  probably  been 
destroyed.  The  drafts  were  upon  the  banking  house  of 
Messrs.  Morgan  &  Co.,  and  were  for  amounts  not  ex- 
ceeding fifty  pounds. 

"  Dr.  Rodman's  address  at  that  time  was  '  Care  Clive 
Bros.,  Importers,  34  John  Street,  New  York.'  Of  Mrs. 
nerve*  we  can  give  you  no  information,  except  that  dur- 
ing the  past  year  we  received  a  communication  from 


142  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Marseilles,  France,  asking  for  her  address,  to  which  we 
returned  the  above  answer.  That  letter  was  signed 
*  Armand  HerveY  and  spoke  of  this  lady  as  the  writer's 
niece. 

"  Regretting  our  inability  to  afford  you  more  accurate 
information,  we  have  the  honor  to  remain 
"  Your  obt.  servants, 

"  BARRY  &  WILLIAMS." 

Judge  Gray  made  a  note  of  the  address  of  Clive  Bros., 
resolving  to  call  there  while  in  New  York,  and  then  he 
went  down  to  join  Regie. 

That  night,  as  he  sat  alone  with  Regie  in  his  own 
room,  Judge  Gray  told  him  Barney's  errand,  and  showed 
him  the  letter  which  Barry  &  Williams  had  written. 
Regie  was  intensely  interested. 

"  Why,  papa,  it  looks  as  if  we  might  find  out  some- 
thing about  Mar j  one,  after  all.  She  told  me  all  that 
story,  herself,  and  I've  got  the  little  bracelet  at  home  in 
my  strong  box.  '  M.  H.'  —  why !  it  must  be  her  mother's 
initials,  don't  you  see  ?  Those  Englishmen  say  her  name 
was  Mrs.  Herve —  dear  Madge,  how  glad  she'll  be  to 
prove  she  isn't  Irish !  " 

Judge  Gray  was  glad  to  see  that  his  interest  in  finding 
out  Marjorie's  parentage  had  made  Regie  partially  for- 
getful of  the  child's  disappearance,  and  he  sat  up  half  an 
hour  later  talking  over  the  subject,  and  entering  strongly 
into  Regie's  warm  partisanship.  Though  it  must  be 
confessed  that  the  more  Judge  Gray  reflected  upon  the 
strange  circumstances  of  Marjorie's  fate,  the  less  prob- 
ability he  saw  of  finding  her;  are  there  not,  alas!  too 
many  cases  of  disappearance  on  record  whose  mystery 
has  never  been  solved  ? 


REGIE   SPEAKS  HIS   MIND.  143 

The  easy  stages  by  which  they  travelled  to  New  York 
seemed  very  long  to  Regie,  but  his  father  evidently  knew 
far  better  than  he  how  fictitious  his  strength  was,  for 
when  they  arrived  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  he  was 
obliged  to  go  to  his  room  and  rest  before  dinner,  Judge 
Gray  promising  to  take  him  to  the  Wylders'  in  the 
evening. 

In  the  gentleman's  reading  room  (where  Judge  Gray 
went,  leaving  Regie  to  take  his  nap  quietly)  he  found  a 
brother  Judge,  named  Ransom,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
for  some  years,  and  was  glad  to  meet  again.  Judge 
Ransom  was  an  old  resident  of  New  York,  and  it  occurred 
to  Judge  Gray  that  he  might  be  able  to  give  him  some 
information  as  to  the  firm  of  Clive  Bros.  So,  presently, 
he  asked  the  question. 

"  Yes,"  Judge  Ransom  said,  "  I  know  the  name,  though 
not  the  gentlemen,  personally.  It 's  a  very  wealthy 
importing  house,  and  they  have  branches  abroad,  in 
Lyons,  I  think,  or  Marseilles.  The  old  sign  used  to  be 
Selden  Clive  &  Co.  I  remember  old  Mr.  Clive  well ;  it 
seems  to  me  I  have  heard  that  he  had  a  paralytic  stroke 
and  went  away  from  New  York  to  his  country-place  — 
where,  I  don't  know.  He  was  very  eccentric ;  the  busi- 
ness is  now  carried  on  by  his  sons." 

A  gentleman  who  was  sitting  next  them  laid  down 
his  newspaper,  and  addressed  Judge  Ransom,  politely. 

"  If  your  friend  desires  any  information  in  regard  to 
the  firm  of  Clive  Bros.,  I  shall  be  happy  to  afford  it. 
Selden  Clive  is  my  father ;  I  am  senior  partner,  and  the 
head  of  the  Philadelphia  branch  of  the  business." 

Judge  Gray  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Clive,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  inquire  whether  he  could  give  him  any  infor- 
mation of  a  Dr.  Rodman,  who  (he  could  not  give  the 


144  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

date,  owing  to  imperfect  memoranda,  but  it  was  probably 
some  six  or  eight  years  since)  had  at  one  time  sent  drafts 
to  England  in  the  care  of  the  firm. 

*•  Rodman  ?  "  said  Mr.  Clive.  "  Rodman  ?  stay,  I  do 
remember  him.  He  was  a  dissipated  fellow,  and  lost 
quite  a  good  practice  through  his  bad  habits,  and  if  I 
recollect  rightly,  my  brother  employed  him  as  book- 
keeper for  a  short  time.  The  reason  for  his  so  doing  "  — 
Mr.  Clive  hesitated,  and  a  cloud  passed  over  his  face  — 
"  was  a  family  one.  He  had  been  a  college  friend  of  my 
youngest  brother ; "  he  paused,  rather  abruptly,  almost 
as  if  he  had  been  about  to  add  something  more,  and 
stopped  short. 

"  Could  you  give  me  Dr.  Rodman's  present  address  ?  " 
asked  Judge  Gray. 

"  I  cannot.  I  remember  that  the  cause  of  his  leaving 
was  a  drunken  frolic,  and  rather  a  disgraceful  one,  too. 
It  came  to  my  father's  ears,  and  he  was  very  angry, 
although  perhaps  there  were  other  causes  for  his  disliking 
Rodman.  I  can  make  inquiries  of  my  brother,  however, 
and  will  do  so  with  pleasure ;  but  I  feel  quite  confident 
that  we  have  lost  sight  of  the  man,  if,  indeed,  he  has  not 
drank  himself  to  death  by  this  time." 

Judge  Gray  thanked  him,  and  presented  him  with  his 
card,  and  then  the  three  gentlemen  had  a  pleasant  con 
versation  upon  other  topics,   which  lasted  until  dinner 
time. 

Mrs.  Wylder  was  sitting  in  her  parlor  when  Judge 
Gray  and  Regie  were  announced  that  evening,  and  she 
met  them  with  a  distressed  face. 

"  O,  Judge  Gray,  I  am  almost  afraid  to  see  you  —  and 
you,  Master  Reginald.  That  dear  child!  just  when  I 
had  grown  to  love  her,  and  Mr.  Wylder  was  so  attached 


REGIE   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND.  145 

to  her.  He  has  actually  grown  thin  with  his  anxiety 
and  worry  for  the  last  three  weeks,  and  I  have  not  been 
equal  to  going  to  Newport  as  I  intended.  It 's  quite  like 
a  death  in  the  house,"  and  Mrs.  Wylder  raised  her 
black-bordered  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  sobbed 
nervously. 

"  Have  you  heard  nothing  of  Marjorie,  then?  "  asked 
Judge  Gray.  Regie  turned  pale  at  the  answer. 

"  No,  nothing.  It  is  so  mysterious,  and  that  makes  it 
the  more  painful.  For  myself,  I  think  she  is  dead," 
said  Mrs.  Wylder,  in  a  tragic  whisper. 

"  My  dear  madam,  pray  be  careful,"  said  Judge  Gray, 
in  an  undertone,  glancing  anxiously  toward  Regie,  as  his 
unspoken  fear  was  thus  put  into  words.  "  Is  your  hus- 
band at  home  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wylder  said  that  she  believed  he  was,  and  rang 
the  bell  for  John,  who  brought  back  a  message  that  his 
master  would  like  to  see  Judge  Gray  in  the  library. 

Regie  cast  an  imploring  glance  at  his  father,  not  wish- 
ing to  be  left  to  Mrs.  Wylder's  tender  mercies,  but 
thinking  that  Mr.  Wylder  might  want  to  consult  him 
privately,  Judge  Gray  'gave  a  negative  shake  of  the  head 
and  followed  John. 

Mrs.  Wylder  talked  on ;  Regie  had  never  thought  her 
so  tiresome  before,  and  she  persisted  in  talking  of  Mar- 
jorie in  a  way  that  was  like  touching  a  raw  nerve,  to 
him.  Getting  warmed  up  with  her  subject,  the  lady 
finally  insisted  upon  Regie's  accompanying  her  up-stairs 
to  see  Marjorie's  room.  Everything  stood  just  as  the 
child  had  left  it,  and  tears  rushed  into  Regie's  eyes  as  he 
saw  Seraphina  in  the  arm-chair,  and  he  all  but  turned 
his  back  on  Mrs.  Wylder  to  prevent  her  seeing  his 
emotion. 

10 


146  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  I  think  Horace  found  a  bit  of  paper  in  the  library 
which  was  the  beginning  of  a  letter  to  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Wylder,  as  they  went  down-stairs  again.  "  He  must 
give  it  to  you  —  O,  there  he  is  now,"  as  the  hall  door 
opened  and  Horace  came  in.  "My  son,  this  is  Mr. 
Reginald  Gray." 

Regie  hesitated  half  a  second  before  offering  his  hand, 
which  Horace  instinctively  perceived,  and  registered 
against  him,  accordingly. 

"  How  are  you,  Gray  ?  "  said  he,  carelessly.  "  It 's  a 
pretty  warm  evening  for  September,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I've  been  showing  him  Marjorie's  room,"  said  his 
mother,  "  and  I  wish  you  would  give  Reginald  that  paper 
you  had  yesterday." 

"  He  's  welcome  to  it,"  said  Horace,  leaving  his  mother, 
and  leading  the  way  into  the  library.  "  That  is,  if  you 
care  anything  for  such  rubbish.  Mother  always  makes 
such  a  scene." 

Regie  did  not  admire  the  contemptuous  tone,  so  he 
said,  rather  indignantly,  "  It  is  no  wonder  she  feels  very 
badly  about  Marjorie  —  such  a  lovely  little  girl  as  she  is." 

"  Ho  !  "  said  Horace,  "  I  couldn't  see  much  '  lovely  ' 
about  her.  It 's  dreadful  business,  of  course,"  recollecting 
that  he  ought  to  express  some  regret,  "  but  she'll  turn  up 
yet,  never  fear.  Here  's  the  paper." 

Regie  took  it.  It  was  a  scrap  of  her  copy-book,  with 
two  lines  in  odd,  half  printed  letters  :  — 

"  dear  Regie,  i  got  your  Splendid  letter,  i  Love  you 
with  all  my  Hart,  do  come  Soon."  — 

Regie's  lips  trembled ;  he  took  out  his  note-book  and 
put  the  scrap  carefully  within  it.  Horace  watched  him 
with  a  sneering  smile. 

"  Well,  I  vow  !  I  don't  understand  that." 


REGIE   SPEAKS   HIS   MIND.  147 

"  What  ?  "  said  Regie,  quietly. 

"  Such  a  fuss  over  that  saucy  child."  Horace,  had  de- 
termined to  "  take  it  out  of  Gray,"  by  saying  what  he 
thought,  and  the  perfectly  cool  face  before  him  gave  no 
warning  of  the  electricity  beneath  Regie's  calmness,  so  he 
went  on  boldly.  "  Yes,  I  call  her  a  saucy  young  one. 
She  was  impudent  enough  to  me  that  night  before  I 
locked  her  up." 

"  Locked  her  up  ?  Where  ?  "  demanded  Regie.  Mr. 
Wylder  had  tried  to  shield  his  son  so  far  as  not  to  men- 
tion that  fact. 

"  Why,  in  here  —  that 's  where  I  guess  she  wrote  that 
precious  paper.  Anyway,  I  found  it  on  the  floor  the  next 
day,  just  where  you  are  standing.  You  never  saw  such 
a  house  as  we've  had  for  the  last  three  weeks ;  mother 
crying,  and  that  French  maid  making  a  fool  of  herself, 
and  father  having  policemen  here  at  all  hours  of  the  day, 
and  looking  solemn  and  sour  enough.  And  what 's  it  all 
about  ?  "  with  a  scornful  laugh  ;  "  just  a  dirty  little  Irish 
beggar  picked  up  "  — 

Regie  made  one  rapid  step  forward,  and  before  Horace 
could  collect  himself,  he  was  being  shaken  by  the  collar 
violently,  and  a  pair  of  beautiful  blue  eyes  were  fairly 
blazing  at  him. 

"  Don't  you  dare  say  that,  you  pitiful  sneak !  "  cried 
Regie,  pounding  him  with  all  his  might.  "  I'll  punish 
you  for  locking  her  up  —  there  !  there  !  there  !  " 

Fanchon,  passing  through  the  hall,  heard  Horace  howl, 
and  looked  on  with  perfect  delight  to  see  the  young  tyrant 
receive  his  beating  from  "  ce  beau  Monsieur,"  while  Mr. 
Wylder  and  Judge  Gray  came  hastily  across  from  the 
drawing  room,  to  find  out  what  could  be  the  matter. 

"  Regie  !  "  said  his  father's  astonished  voice. 


148  .    MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  that  young  gentleman,  giving  Horace 
a  final  kick,  and  dropping  into  the  nearest  chair,  his  mo- 
mentary strength  vanishing.  "  I  just  gave  it  to  him,  Mr. 
Wylder,  as  you'd  give  it  him  your  own  self  if  he  talked 
that  way  about  Marjorie.  If  she  's  ever  found  again  she'll 
not  come  back  into  this  house  to  be  bullied  by  you,  you 
abominable  cad !  "  added  Regie,  quite  beside  himself. 
And  then,  as  Horace  scrambled  up  and  flew  toward  him, 
Regie's  head  fell  back  suddenly,  and  he  fainted  away. 

Fanchon,  who  had  been  listening  outside  the  door, 
came  immediately  in  answer  to  her  master's  call,  and  laid 
Regie  on  the  sofa,  and  brought  salts,  and  brandy,  and 
everything  she  could  lay  her  hands  on  as  a  restorative. 
The  faintness  did  not  last  very  long,  and  when  Regie  felt 
able  to  sit  up,  his  eyes  turned  to  his  father. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  papa,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Wylder,  who  had  been  talking  to  Horace  in  a  low 
voice,  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  answered  him. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  he.  "  If  Horace  had 
spoken  to  me  as  he  did  to  you  I  should  have  reproved  him 
severely.  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  Reginald ;  I  loved  little 
Marjorie  almost  as  well  as  you  did,  dear  boy." 

Regie  put  his  hand  on  Mr.  Wylder's  arm,  affectionately. 
"Do  you  think  we'll  ever  find  her,  sir  ?  I'm  sorry  I  said 
that  about  her  coming  back  here." 

"  The  detectives  give  me  very  little  encouragement," 
said  Mr.  Wylder,  sadly.  "  But  whatever  I  hear,  you 
shall  have.  Must  you  go,  Judge  Gray  ?  Bring  this  boy 
of  yours  down  again,  and  whenever  you  come  I  shall 
always  be  glad  to  have  you  stay  with  us,  and  so  will 
Louise.  Can't  you  come  and  dine  to-morrow  ?  " 

But  Judge  Gray  said  that  it  would  be  impossible,  as  he 
must  take  the  boat  next  day  ;  Regie  needed  the  rest  and 
quiet  of  home  after  all  this  excitement. 


REGIE    SPEAKS   HIS  "HIND.  149 

Horace  had  made  his  escape  out  of  the  room,  and  when 
Judge  Gray  and  Regie  got  into  their  carriage  after  say- 
ing good-night,  Fanchon  found  Regie's  glove  in  the  hall, 
and  ran  down  to  the  carriage  door  with  it. 

"  Mam'selle  have  talked  of  you  so  very  often,"  whis- 
pered the  impetuous  Frenchwoman.  "  She  say,  always, 
'  My  dear  Regie  '  —  yes,  many  times.  Monsieur,  I  make 
you  my  compliments  for  ze  beating  to  master  Horace 
—  he  one  very  bad  boy  !  " 

Regie  could  hardly  help  laughing  as  he  thanked  her, 
and  he  slipped  a  little  money  in  her  hand  as  they  drove 
off. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  rather  awful,"  said  Regie  to  his 
father,  after  they  had  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  he  was 
getting  ready  for  bed,  feeling  quite  worn  out.  "  I  sup- 
pose it  was  rather  awful  to  give  Horace  Wylder  a  licking 
in  his  own  house,  but  if  you'd  heard  him  —  the  way  he 
spoke,  I  mean  —  you  would  have  boiled  over :  yes,  indeed. 
And  they  may  say  what  they  like,  papa ;  I  believe  I  shall 
see  dear  little  Madge  again  some  day.  I  have  the  queer- 
est feeling  about  her,"  Regie's  boyish  blush  came  up  to 
his  face,  although  it  was  too  dark  for  his  father  to  see  it. 
"  I  seem  to  know  that  I'll  find  her,  all  myself,  and  find 
out  her  parentage,  too.  I  promised  her  I  would,  when 
I'm  a  man,  and  that  won't  be  so  very  long  after  I'm 
through  college." 

"  Go  to  sleep,  Rex,"  said  his  father,  smiling  quietly. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  and  there  was  a  silence  for  some  moments. 

"  Any  way,"  burst  out  Regie,  afresh,  "  we  can  put 
advertisements  in  our  papers,  and  "  —  very  sleepily,  "  I'm 
just  as  glad  as  I  can  be  that — I  —  spoke  my  mind  to 
Horace  !  " 


150  MARJORIE'S   QUEST. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
MAKJORIE  MEETS  A  GOOD  SAMARITAN. 

SEPTEMBER  passed,  and  October,  with  its  cool,  clear 
days  had  come  around  before  Marjorie  was  able  to 
leave  old  Moll's  attic.  How  the  child  lived  was  a  mir- 
acle ;  had  it  not  been  for  Nancy's  devoted  and  untiring 
care  she  would  probably  have  died.  And  as  it  was,  she 
had  much  to  struggle  against.  The  wound  on  her  head 
was  perhaps  the  least  of  it ;  she  had  a  terrible  fever,  and 
was  either  raving  in  delirium,  or  senseless  and  stupefied 
most  of  the  time.  Gentleman  Roddy  had  the  sense  to 
let  the  fever  take  its  course,  only  giving  her  very  simple 
remedies,  and  that  was  her  salvation.  But  poor  Nancy 
had  her  hands  full,  as  the  phrase  goes,  between  old  Moll 
and  "  her  man  Jim."  She  could  generally  contrive  to  keep 
Marjorie  quiet,  if  they  were  out  of  the  way,  but  whenever 
the  pair  had  a  drunken  carouse  (which  occurred  as  often 
as  the  state  of  their  finances  would  permit)  and  came 
home  quarreling  and  swearing  at  each  other,  Marjorie 
would  be  roused  to  a  perfect  frenzy. 

Old  Moll  had  not  dared,  as  yet,  to  dispose  of  the  gold 
beads ;  if  she  had,  Marjorie  would  probably  have  been 
traced  by  the  detectives.  And  as  Moll  could  not  read, 
and  never  saw  a  newspaper,  her  cupidity  was  not  aroused 
by  the  knowledge  of  the  rewards  offered  for  Marjorie. 
It  was  commonly  supposed  by  the  inmates  of  the  house 
(those  of  them  who  cared  enough  on  the  subject  to  make 
inquiries)  that  the  sick  child  was  a  niece  of  Nancy's,  as 
she  had  once  told  Gentleman  Roddy.  Nancy  had  been 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A   GOOD   SAMARITAN.  151 

obliged  to  dispose  of  Marjorie's  white  dress,  to  obtain  a 
little  money,  all  of  which  she  faithfully  expended  upon 
her  patient,  but  as  she  first  ripped  off  the  embroidered 
bands,  to  be  sold  separately,  it  had  not  reached  the  notice 
of  the  police. 

But  her  fever  had  made  'one  great  change  in  Marjorie  ; 
she  had  lost  all  recollection  of  the  past  few  yeurs  aatif 
they  had  never  been.  Even  her  own  name,  Marjorie,  had 
gone  from  her,  and  although  dimly,  as  in  a  dream,  she 
seemed  to  know  that  Mary  (the  name  which  Nancy  gave 
her)  was  not  hers,  she  could  not  remember  what  she 
ought  to  be  called.  Her  memory  went  back  further  still, 
and  she  talked  dreamily  of  "  mamma,"  and  how  cross  the 
old  gentleman  with  white  hair  had  been  to  her. 

"  You  know,"  she  said  one  day,  whispering  to  Nancy, — 
"  you  know  he  gave  me  a  push,  and  I  fell  down.  That 's 
why  my  head  feels  so  queer ;  when  I  get  well  can  I  go 
back  to  my  own  mother  ?  " 

Nancy  promised,  and  soothed  the  child  until  she  fell  off 
into  a  quiet  slumber. 

Very  cautiously,  at  different  times,  Nancy  tried  to  find 
out  where  Marjorie  could  have  come  from.  Old  Moll, 
besotted  as  she  was,  was  too  cunning  to  betray  herself,  and 
told  a  different  story  each  time  that  Nancy  got  her  upon 
the  subject.  And  the  child  herself  could  give  no  answer, 
and  would  become  so  distressed  when  questioned,  that 
Nancy  finally  forbore  asking  her  anything  about  the  past. 

But  when  the  cool  October  days  came,  another  misfor- 
tune befell  Marjorie.  Nancy  fell  sick,  and  the  child  lost 
her  only  protector.  To  be  sure,  whenever  Gentleman 
Roddy  came  he  would  interpose  between  old  Moll  and  the 
child,  but  his  visits  were  not  frequent  enough  to  be  of 
much  service  in  the  persecution  that  Marjorie  suffered. 


152  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

The  old  hag  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  spite  against  her 
to  tell  the  truth,  Moll  thought  it  a  sad  pity  that  Marjorie 
had  not  been  allowed  to  die  when  she  was  so  ill,  and  was 
disposed,  as  she  confidentially  expressed  it  to  her  grand- 
son Jim,  "  to  take  it  out  of  her,  now  Nance  was  like  to 
kick  th§  bucket."  And  she  was  as  good  as  her  word. 
Many  a  weary  day  did  Marjorie  trudge  along  beside  the 
old  hag,  laden  with  an  ancient  basket,  for  "  cold  pieces," 
which  Moll  collected  in  her  daily  rounds.  Many  were 
the  cruel  blows  that  fell  on  the  shrinking  child's  shoulders, 
until  her  patient  gray  eyes  began  to  have  a  hunted,  fright- 
ened look  that  would  have  half  broken  Regie's  heart  to 
see  in  them.  Marjorie  used  to  wonder  why  she  didn't  die 
then ;  the  days  were  so  long,  and  the  nights  were  horri- 
ble, spent  with  Moll  and  Jim,  when  half-intoxicated  and 
wholly  brutal.  Nancy  lay  moaning  with  acute  rheuma- 
tism, unable  to  move  hand  or  foot,  and  if  Marjorie  tried  to 
tend  the  sufferer,  or  even  to  give  her  a  cup  of  water,  a 
curse  and  a  blow  from  one  or  the  other  of  her  tormentors 
was  sure  to  be  her  reward. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what,  Mary,"  said  Nancy,  one  morning,  in 
a  furtive  whisper,  as  Moll  was  busy  getting  the  basket 
ready  for  another  expedition, — "  if  I'm  sick  this  way  long, 
begorra,  I'll  ax  Gentleman  Roddy  to  do  something  for 
you.  An' if  it  's  a  good  chance  you  gets,  just  run  away 
from  her  —  the  old  divil !  O,  me  darlint,  what  looks  like 
me  little  Jim,  it 's  niver  a  word  av  the  kind  I'd  say  to  ye 
if  I  was  meself,  but  maybe  they'd  kill  you  like  they  did 
—  what  was  I  sayin'  ?  —  If  she  is  very  bad  to  ye  the  day, 
just  speak  till  the  p'liceman,  sure ;  maybe  he'd  take  her 
till  the  station,  and  a  good  riddance,  'twould  be  for  ^ou 
and  me." 

"  What 's  you  doing,  ye  dirthy  spalpeen  ! "  cried  Moll, 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A    GOOD    SAMARITAN.  153 

coining  up  behind  Marjorie  as  she  bent  over  Nancy. 
"  Go  long  wid  ye,  and  carry  that  basket  straight,  d'  ye 
mind  ?  " 

The  cuff  accompanying  the  remark  made  Marjorie  reel, 
but  she  closed  her  lips  as  she  saw  Nancy's  face  of  pain, 
and  went  out  of  the  door  and  down  the  rickety  stairs  with 
only  a  few  quiet  tears  streaming  down  her  little  pale  face. 

Moll  was  in  better  humor  after  she  had  begged  success- 
fully of  two  gentlemen  passers,  and  she  plunged  into  a 
grog-shop  for  a  drink  as  soon  as  the  donors  were  out  of 
sight.  The  close  air  of  the  place  made  Marjorie  feel 
faint,  but  luckily,  Moll  did  not  stay  there  long.  When 
she  came  out  she  announced  cheerfully,  that  she  was 
going  "  up  to  see  the  'ristocrats,"  as  she  hadn't  been  up 
town  in  quite  a  while. 

"  An'  it  's  tired  I  am,"  growled  she,  as  they  came  out 
on  Broadway  near  the  City  Hall  Park;  "I  belave  I'll 
just  take  a  car  and  ride  at  me  ease,  sure.  I've  the  money 
here,  and  I'll  be  sure  to  get  some  more  in  the  big  bug 
quarters,  —  they'd  give  it  just  to  be  shut  of  me.  Mind 
that  basket,  ye  limb  av  Satan,"  shouted  she,  as  Marjorie 
hit  the  side  of  the  car  in  getting  in.  "  Ye  must  excuse 
me  waiting  maid,  sir,  she  's  not  so  handy  as  those  I'm 
used  till." 

The  conductor  hustled  them  in,  regardless  of  Moll's 
impudence,  and  Marjorie  was  glad  to  rest  her  weary  little 
feet,  even  though  she  had  to  stand  at  first.  Moll  had  of 
course  taken  the  only  vacant  seat,  but  a  kind  looking 
mechanic  sitting  next  to  her,  after  glancing  at  Marjorie's 
pale  face,  rose,  and  gave  the  child  his  seat. 

The  color  flew  into  her  cheeks  at  the  unexpected  kind- 
ness, and  her  "  O,  thank  you  so  much,  sir,"  in  her  sweet, 
plaintive  voice  rang  in  the  man's  ears  sometime  after  he 


154  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

had  left  the  car.  He  had  a  little  girl  of  his  own  at  home, 
and  the  kindly  heart  under  the  blue  flannel  shirt  gave  a 
throb  of  pain  as  he  thought  how  hard  it  would  be  to  see 
Nelly's  face  with  such  a  look  of  care  on  it. 

The  motion  of  the  car  made  Moll  sleepy,  and  the  vile 
whiskey  which  she  had  been  drinking  was  beginning  to 
take  effect,  so  her  head  sank  lower  and  lower  until  she 
tried  to  make  a  pillow  for  herself  on  Marjorie's  little 
shoulder.  The  child  bore  it  for  some  minutes  very  pa- 
tiently, and  then  she  moved  a  trifle.  Old  Moll  raised  her 
head,  uttered  a  curse,  gave  Marjorie  a  vicious  pinch  on 
the  arm,  which  almost  made  her  scream  aloud,  and  then 
coolly  deposited  her  head  on  the  same  resting  place 
again. 

Marjorie  bit  her  lips  until  the  blood  came.  The  sensi- 
tive child  shrank  painfully  from  the  eyes  of  the  well- 
dressed  passengers  around  her ;  the  mortification  of  having 
Moll  beside  her  burned  in  her  heart,  hotly.  Trying  to 
divert  herself  by  looking  out  at  University  Place,  which 
they  were  going  through,  she  met  the  gaze  of  a  young 
lady  sitting  directly  opposite  her.  Marjorie's  love  for 
everything  pretty  was  as  strong  as  ever,  and  this  lady's 
face  was  almost  beautiful.  Such  a  brilliant,  clear  com- 
plexion, lovely,  dimpled  mouth,  and  soft  brown  eyes  as 
she  had ;  the  eyes,  too,  meeting  Marjorie's  with  a  look 
of  commiseration  which  made  the  child's  little  mouth 
quiver,  and  a  tear  roll  down  her  cheek.  The  lady  was 
richly  dressed  ;  Marjorie  saw  the  gold  bracelets  and  dia- 
mond sleeve-buttons  at  the  slender,  white  wrists,  just 
above  her  pretty,  silver-gray  gloves.  Unconsciously,  while 
looking  at  her,  she  moved  again,  and  old  Moll,  raising 
her  head,  and  being  half  stupefied,  and  furious  at  being 
disturbed,  brought  down  her  fist  with  all  her  force  on 
Marjorie's  cheek. 


MARJORIE  MEETS  A  GOOD  SAMARITAN.       155 

The  child  gave  a  cry,  and  in  half  a  minute  the  young 
lady  was  out  of  her  seat,  standing  beside  her. 

"  Did  she  hurt  you,  my  poor  child  ?  "  cried  she,  her 
brown  eyes  flashing,  and  looking  more  beautiful  than 
ever  in  her  animated  indignation.  "  The  woman  is  in- 
toxicated ;  come  and  take  my  seat." 

Half  a  dozen  gentlemen  sprang  up  to  offer  a  seat  to  the 
young  lady,  and  Moll,  muttering  something,  attempted 
to  rise  also,  but  she  was  too  drunk  to  stand,  and  accord- 
ingly, she  tumbled  at  full  length  in  a  heap  on  the  floor  of 
the  car. 

There  immediately  arose  a  commotion.  The  conductor 
stopped  the  car,  and  one  of  the  gentlemen  called  a  police- 
man, and  the  young  lady  took  Marjorie's  trembling  hand 
in  hers,  and  held  it  firmly.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  who 
had  been  standing  on  the  front  platform  came  in  to  see 
what  was  the  matter,  and  one  of  them  walked  up  to  the 
pretty  young  lady. 

"  Why,  Miss  Virginia,"  said  he,  in  a  surprised  voice, 
raising  his  hat  as  he  spoke,  —  "what  are  you  doing  here  ? 
I  didn't  even  know  that  you  were  in  town." 

"  Then  you  didn't  get  my  card,  Mr.  Randolph,"  said 
she,  blushing,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand.  "  I  certainly 
sent  it  to  you :  we  (papa  and  I)  are  at  the  Fifth  Ave- 
nue Hotel." 

"  Let  me  take  you  there,"  said  he,  eagerly.  "  It  is 
not  far  to  walk." 

But  the  young  lady's  answer  was  prevented  by  the 
commotion  that  Moll  made  as  she  swore  at  the  police- 
man, who  avowed  his  intention  of  taking  her  to  the 
station-house.  What  was  to  become  of  the  little  girl 
whom  the  old  woman  had  struck  ?  Virginia  turned  to 
her  protege". 


156  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  My  dear,  what  shall  I  do  for  you  ?  "  she  said,  kindly. 

"  Take  me  away  —  don't  let  her  catch  me,"  said 
Marjorie,  trying  to  crouch  down  behind  her  new  friend. 
"She'll  beat  me  awfully;  Nancy  told  me  I'd  better  run 
away." 

"  Indeed  she  shall  not,"  said  the  young  lady,  all  her 
warm  indignation  returning  as  she  saw  the  livid  mark 
that  Moll's  blow  had  left  on  the  child's  face.  "  Is  she 
your  mother  ?  " 

"O  no,  ma'am!  I  don't  belong  to  her  at  all  —  I'm 
not  Irish,  you  know,"  and  the  old  repugnance  which  she 
had  always  manifested  at  the  idea  was  plainly  depicted 
on  Marjorie's  speaking  countenance  as  she  spoke. 

Struck,  as  Judge  Gray  had  been,  with  the  purity  of 
the  child's  tone  and  pronunciation,  Virginia  paused  and 
looked  doubtfully  at  her.  Moll  was  being  dragged  off 
by  the  policeman,  and  the  conductor  rang  the  bell  impa- 
tiently, for  the  car  to  move  on. 

"  You  shall  not  go  back,  you  shall  come  with  me," 
said  the  young  lady,  seating  herself,  and  motioning  Mar- 
jorie to  take  the  place  next  to  her.  Mr.  Randolph, 
standing  in  front  of  them,  looked  his  amazement. 

"  Are  you  going  to  adopt  that  child  ?  "  asked  he,  com- 
ically. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Miss  Virginia  said,  flushing  up  again. 
"  I  mean  to  take  her  to  the  hotel  and  see  what  papa 
says.  Here  we  are,  Mr.  Randolph  ;  will  you  come  up  to 
our  parlor,  or  will  you  call  this  evening  ?  " 

The  gentleman  thanked  her,  and  said  he  would  come 
after  dinner,  and  then  he  escorted  Virginia  'up  the  stair- 
case of  the  hotel,  and  left  her  at  the  door  of  her  room. 

The  first  thing  that  the  young  lady  did  upon  entering 
her  parlor  was  to  ring  for  the  chambermaid ;  her  next 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A    GOOD   SAMARITAN.  157 

was  to  take  both  Marjorie's  hands  in  hers  and  say,  "  Now 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

But  poor  Marjorie  's  "  all"  was  not  very  satisfactory  ; 
she  could  only  tell  that  she  had  been  very  ill,  how  many 
weeks  she  did  not  know,  and  that  when  she  knew  what 
was  going  on  again,  her  mother  was  not  with  her. 

"  I  can't  remember,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  distressed 
face.  "  I  know  I  was  on  a  ship  with  mamma,  and  the 
waves  were  very  high,  and  she  was  ill.  And  then  I  don't 
recollect  after  that,  much  —  except  the  old  gentleman 
with  white  hair,  and  strange  black  eyes  who  spoke  crossly 
to  my  mother,  and  pushed  me  away.  There  was  a  queer 
bird  in  the  room  —  O  !  "  cried  Marjorie,  raising  her  hand, 
as  if  in  pain,  to  her  forehead  —  "  who  told  me  I  must 
try  to  remember  more  about  that  time  ?  Somebody  did 
—  who  was  it  ?  " 

Her  large  eyes  were  so  full  of  misery  and  terror  at  the 
failure  of  her  memory  that  Virginia  hastened  to  change 
the  subject. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  how  you  came  to  be  with  that 
dreadful,  drunken  old  woman  ?  " 

"  No  ma'am.  I  don't  seem  to  have  any  mind  ;  I  guess 
my  sickness  made  me  forget." 

Marjorie  got  along  more  coherently  as  she  related  all 
the  misery  she  had  suffered  with  old  Moll.  She  told 
quite  connectedly  about  Nancy,  and  Gentleman  Roddy's 
kindness,  and  one  speech  in  particular  struck  her  listener. 

"  I  never  used  to  wear  only  a  dress  and  a  chemise," 
said  Marjorie,  coloring  painfully  as  she  touched  her  dirty 
calico.  "  Nancy  said  she  sold  my  clothes  when  I  was  sick 
to  get  me  medicine.  Please  excuse  the  way  I  look." 
She  made  her  apology  with  the  old,  quiet  dignity,  and 
Virginia  said  to  herself,  — 


158  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  The  child  is  right ;  she  must  have  been  brought  up 
with  refinement.  I  never  saw  such  pathetic  eyes  in  my 
life." 

The  chambermaid,  who  had  come  in  during  this  con- 
versation, and  stared  inquisitively  at  the  ragged  child  who 
was  holding  Miss  Olive's  hands,  had  been  dispatched  for 
the  young  lady's  servant,  and  now  the  door  opened  and 
a  handsome,  elderly  mulatto  woman  came  in.  She  was 
very  neatly  dressed,  and  her  language  betrayed  that  she 
had  been  educated. 

"  Why,  Miss  Ginny !  "  said  she,  raising  her  hands  in 
surprise  as  she  caught  sight  of  Marjorie.  "  What  's 
you'se  been  doing  now,  for  sure  ?  Hasn't  been  finding 
one  of  dose  Sunday-school  scholars  up  here  in  New  York, 
eh  ?  Poor  chile  !  "  as  she  bent  down  and  saw  Marjorie's 
quivering  lips.  "D'ye  feel  bad?  Come  to  your  ole 
Maum  Phebe." 

"  That 's  right,  Phebe,"  said  her  mistress,  as  the  woman 
took  Marjorie  gently  into  her  lap.  "  I  found  her  with 
the  most  dreadful  old  woman  —  never  mind,"  hastily,  as 
Marjorie's  tears  began  to  fall  slowly.  "  I'll  tell  you  the 
story  by  and  by.  You  might  ring  and  order  some  lunch 
for  her,  and  then,  Phebe,  give  her  a  bath.  I'm  going 
out  to  try  to  buy  some  clothes  for  her,  ready  made,  and 
when  papa  comes  in  I  mean  to  ask  him  if  I  can't  take 
her  to  Philadelphia." 

"  Hi !  what  will  your  papa  say  to  that  ?  "  said  Phebe, 
rocking  Marjorie  to  and  fro.  "  He'll  say  little  missy  is  an 
'  extravagant  puss,'  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Virginia,  laughing,  as  Phebe,  with  the 
quick  mimicry  of  her  race  imitated  her  master's  voice  to 
the  life.  "  Very  likely,  but  he  always  lets  me  do  as  I 
like  in  the  end.  Be  sure  to  give  the  child  plenty  to  eat ; 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A   GOOD    SAMARITAN.  159 

she  looks  half   starved.      And,  Phebe,"  pausing  on  the 
threshold,  "  get  one  of  my  flannel  wrappers  and  put  it  on  • 
her  when  she  has  her  bath,"  and,  with  a  kind  nod  to 
Marjorie,  the  bright,  beautiful  face  vanished  as  the  door 
closed. 

"  Bress  her  heart,"  said  Phebe,  warmly  ;  "  she 's  good 
as  gold,  little  Miss  Ginny  is.  Now,  chile,  which  will  you 
do  first,  —  have  the  bath,  or  some  lunch  ?  I  reckon  a 
little  chicken  soup  and  some  oysters  would  taste  good,  eh, 
for  sure  ?  I'll  jest  tell  dat  chambermaid  to  send  a  waiter 
for  some." 

Marjorie  thought  that  Maum  Phebe  (as  she  called  her- 
self) was  a  wonderfully  kind  person,  as  she  sat  rocking 
her  little  charge,  and  talking  cheerfully  until  the  lunch 
she  had  ordered  came.  Phebe  prepared  it  for  her  so 
nicely,  and  crumbed  bread  in  the  chicken  soup  (although 
she  was  rather  disdainful  as  to  its  cooking,  and  told  Mar- 
jorie that  down  in  Philadelphy  they  put  more  than  the 
chicken  bones  in  soup,  —  "  reckon  de  bones  was  all  dat  ar 
soup  ever  saw  "),  and  spread  her  toast  for  her,  and  gave 
her  a  cup  of  weak  tea,  adding  that  "  strong  tea  was  not 
good  for  a  chile ;  Miss  Ginny,  she  never  had  none  of  it 
till  she  was  grown  up,  bress  her  !  " 

Marjorie  enjoyed  her  meal  exceedingly  ;  she  only  felt 
sorry  that  she  could  not  give  some  of  the  chicken  broth 
to  Nancy,  and  she  told  Phebe  so.  Phebe  was  quite  in- 
terested, and  asked  many  questions  about  the  sick  woman 
while  she  was  washing  and  dressing  Marjorie,  and  she 
groaned  with  indignation  when  she  saw  long  black  and 
blue  lines  on  the  child's  shoulders  and  arms,  the  traces  of 
old  Moll's  cruelty. 

"  Dey  's  mighty  poor  white  trash,"  said  Phebe,  relaps- 
ing into  her  negro  dialect,  as  she  frequently  did  when 


160  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

excited  or  pleased.  "  It 's  only  de  mis'able  trash  dat  beats 
dey  li'le  children ;  'spectable,  decent  culled  pussons  dey 
do  nothing  of  de  kin'." 

Marjorie,  in  one  of  Miss  Virginia's  blue  flannel  wrap- 
pers, her  long,  fair  hair  floating  about  her  shoulders  in 
loose  curls,  a  little  tint  of  color  in  her  face,  and  a  gleam 
of  pleasure  in  her  large  eyes,  was  a  sufficiently  pretty 
picture.  And  so  Phebe  thought  as  she  put  her  on  the 
sofa,  and  bade  her  go  to  sleep ;  she  would  waken  her 
when  Miss  Ginny  came. 

But  the  parcels  began  to  arrive  before  Virginia  did, 
and  Phebe  had  ejaculated  "  Bress  de  chile  ! "  a  dozen 
times  at  least  before  the  bright,  glowing  face  of  her  mis- 
tress appeared. 

"  Hush,  honey  ;  she  's  sleeping  just  as  quiet  as  a  lamb 
in  your  room.  'Pears  as  if  she'd  never  go  to  sleep.  That 
chile  's  been  awful  sick,  missy  ;  she  starts  and  cries  some- 
times, in  a  kinder  queer  way  that  folks  allers  have  after 
a  fever.  She  ain't  any  of  your  poor  trash,"  said  Phebe, 
contemptuously.  "  I'll  tell  you  why.  When  she  was 
eating  her  lunch  a  while  ago,  she  handled  her  fork  jest 
as  your  dear  mother  used  to  make  you  when  you  was  a 
chile.  Eh  ?  dat  chile  have  been  tole  what  table  manners 
is,"  and  Phebe  shook  her  head  emphatically. 

"  I  am  very  much  interested  in  her,"  said  Virginia, 
glancing  through  the  half  open  door  at  the  little  sleeper. 
"  Open  the  boxes,  Phebe,  and  see  if  I  got  what  was  nec- 
essary. As  the  child  is  not  awake  yet,  you  may  dress 
me ;  take  out  my  gray  silk  with  cherry  trimmings, 
please." 

"  Miss  Ginny  expects  company  to-night,  eh  ?  "  said 
Phebe,  as  she  stood  gazing  with  fond  eyes  at  her  pretty 
mistress.  "  Shall  I  put  the  diamond  locket  out  for  you  ? 
Going  to  de  opera,  Miss  Ginny  ?  " 


THE    LITTLE   SLEEPER. 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A   GOOD   SAMARITAN.  161 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Virginia,  glowing  a  little.  "  It 's  only 
Mr.  Randolph,  Phebe.  You  remember  him,  last  sum- 
mer?" 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Phebe,  smiling.  The  gay,  manly  face 
of  Miss  Ginny's  "  New  York  beau  "  had  pleased  Phebe 
greatly  during  their  stay  at  Cape  May  last  July.  She 
had  her  own  ideas  about  Mr.  Randolph,  but  she  was  too 
prudent  to  hint  them  to  anybody.  "  Mr.  Randolph  is  a 
very  nice  gentleman ;  he  always  says  '  How-d'ye-do, 
Phebe,'  as  polite  as  can  be." 

"  The  child  is  awake,"  said  Virginia,  hastily,  hearing  a 
movement  in  the  other  room.  She  found  Marjorie  sitting 
up  on  the  sofa,  looking  the  picture  of  bewilderment. 

"  Did  you  forget  where  you  were  ?  "  said  Virginia, 
gayly  kissing  her  protege's  sweet,  child  lips.  "  I  have 
some  nice  clothes  for  you  in  the  other  room  ;  will  you  let 
Phebe  put  them  on  ?  " 

"  O,  yes  !  "  cried  Marjorie,  gratefully.  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  can  do  for  you,  ma'am,  you're  so  kind !  " 

"  You  needn't  say  '  ma'am  '  to  me,"  laughed  Virginia. 
"  You  can  call  me  Miss  Virginia,  —  dear  me  !  I  don't 
know  your  name  yet."  A  cloud  passed  over  Marjorie 's 
face. 

"  Nancy  called  me  Mary,"  said  she,  soberly,  "  but  I 
know  that  isn't  my  name.  I  had  a  different  name  once  ; 
a  longer  name,  —  but  I  can't  remember." 

Again  the  pitiful,  frightened  look  which  Virginia  had 
seen  before.  "  If  I  keep  you  with  me,  I  sha'n't  call  you 
Mary,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  object  to  my  giving  you  an- 
other name  ?  " 

"  O,  no,"  said  Marjorie.  "  Anything  you  choose 
would  be  pretty,  I  know." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  missy,"  said  Phebe,  nodding  her 
11 


162  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

head  as  she  dressed  Marjorie  in  the  pretty  blue  delaine 
which  her  mistress  had  brought  home,  "  it 's  my  'pinion 
that  dis  chile  has  been  kidnapped." 

"  Nonsense,  Phebe,"  said  Virginia.  "  Kidnappers  are 
your  great  bugbears,  but  I  don't  believe  they  are  met 
with  in  New  York.  My  dear,  you  look  very  neat  and 
smart ;  Phebe  is  the  perfection  of  dressing  maids.  Just 
fasten  this  locket  for  me,  —  there  's  papa's  key  in  the 
door.  Phebe,  keep  the  child  here  till  I  send  for  her,"  and 
Virginia  went  into  the  parlor  and  closed  the  door  be- 
tween the  rooms. 

Marjorie  could  hear  the  murmur  of  voices,  and  sat 
wondering  what  was  going  to  happen  next.  She  did  not 
realize  that  her  own  fate  was  hanging  in  the  balance,  and 
when,  after  an  absence  of  half  an  hour,  Virginia's  clear 
voice  called  "  Phebe  !  "  she  followed  the  woman  with  her 
usual  docility. 

Mr.  Clive  was  sitting  in  an  easy  chair,  and  Virginia, 
looking  lovely  in  her  gray  dress,  was  upon  a  low  stool  at 
his  feet,  her  arms  clasped  around  his  knee.  He  was  a 
fine,  stately  looking  man  of  perhaps  fifty,  with  keen  gray 
eyes,  whose  glance  could  be  stern  and  penetrating  enough. 
He  was  smiling  now,  however,  at  some  speech  of  his 
petted  daughter,  and  the  first  look  that  he  gave  Marjorie 
was  one  of  surprise. 

"Is  that  the  child?"  said  he.  Marjorie  came  shyly 
toward  him,  and,  encouraged  by  a  smile  from  Virginia, 
put  up  her  cheek  to  be  kissed.  The  unconscious  grace 
and  innocent  manner  were  powerful  arguments  in  her 
favor,  and  Mr.  Clive  bent  down  and  kissed  the  child  with 
a  smile. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go  to  Philadelphia  ?  "  said 
he,  keeping  hold  of  the  small  hand. 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A   GOOD   SAMARITAN.  163 

"  With  Miss  Virginia  ?  "  asked  Marjorie.  "  I  'd  go 
anywhere  with  her,  sir.  She  spoke  so  kindly  this  morn- 
ing —  she  wanted  to  give  me  her  own  seat  in  the  car 
when  Moll  struck  me,"  and  Marjorie's  head  went  down 
as  she  choked  over  the  sob  which  came  with  the  last 
word. 

"  Very  right,"  said  Mr.  Clive,  nodding,  and  giving  one 
of  his  keen  glances  at  the  truthful  little  face  before  him. 
He  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with  what  he  saw  there,  for  he 
said  presently,  "  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Phebe  ? 
It  will  be  another  care  for  you." 

"  Maum  Phebe  can  work  pretty  well  yet,"  said  she, 
showing  all  her  white  teeth.  "  De  chile  is  a  good  chile, 
Fse  warrant,  and  it  never  would  do  to  leave  her  with  de 
awful  ole  woman  again." 

Mr.  Clive  asked  Marjorie  several  questions  about  old 
Moll,  and  where  she  lived.  All  that  Marjorie  could  tell 
him  was  that  the  name  of  the  street  was  Randall's  Alley ; 
she  had  no  idea  of  the  locality.  And  she  turned  so  pale 
at  the  bare  idea  of  going  back  there,  even  to  point  out 
the  house,  that  Mr.  Clive  relinquished  his  half -formed 
plan  of  taking  the  child  there  in  a  carriage,  to  ascertain 
the  truth  of  her  statements.  As  Phebe  had  said,  Mr. 
Clive  seldom  denied  any  wish  of  Virginia's,  and  he  was 
fain  to  confess  to  himself,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  listened  to  the  conversation  going  on  between  his 
daughter  and  Marjorie,  that  there  was  a  curious  charm 
about  the  child,  and  that  Virginia  might  as  well  be  in- 
dulged this  time. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  call  her  ?  "  said  he,  abruptly. 

Virginia  put  her  hand  upon  his  knee  with  a  caressing 
motion.  "  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  laughing ;  "  she 
does'nt  want  to  be  called  Mary  "  — 


164  MAKJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  It,  is  not  my  name,"  interrupted  Marjorie,  eagerly. 

"  So  you  said  ;  what  shall  we  christen  her,  Papa  ? 
Not  too  fanciful  a  name  —  dear  me !  Let  me  look  at 
you,  child."  Virginia  pursed  up  her  pretty  brow  in  an 
attempt  to  frown. 

"  I  have  it !"  cried  she,  clapping  her  hands.  "  With 
your  yellow  hair  and  wide-opened,  limpid  eyes,  you  put 
me  in  mind  of  a  field-daisy  —  what  do  you  say  to  that, 
papa  ?  Doesn't  she  look  like  one  ?  I  '11  call  you 
'  Daisy.'  " 

Marjorie  drew  a  long,  satisfied  sigh.  "  I  like  that," 
said  she.  "  It 's  real  pretty  ;  thank  you,  ma'am.  Is  that 
all  my  name  ?  It  seems  to  me,"  the  terror  coming  up  in 
her  face  again,  —  "  it  seems  to  me  as  if  somebody  asked 
me  once  if  I  had  only  one  name.  It  was  a  girl  with  big 
eyes ;  there  was  snow  on  the  ground,  and  lots  of  children  ; 
O  !  wliy  can't  I  remember  anything  ?  " 

Virginia  exchanged  a  glance  with  her  father.' 

"  That  won't  do,"  said  he,  in  an  undertone.  "  There 
has  been  some  great  shock  to  the  brain.  Daisy,"  drawing 
her  toward  him,  "  you  must  not  even  try  to  remember 
things.  Virginia  says  you  tell  her  that  you  were  very  ill ; 
people  sometimes  forget  the  past  for  a  long  while  and 
then,  suddenly  they  wake  up,  and  it  is  all  clear  again. 
That  may  be  the  case  with  you  ;  your  brain  is  resting, 
just  as  your  body  does  when  you  are  asleep,  and  you 
must  not  try  to  wake  it  up  in  a  hurry.  You  want 
another  name,  eh  ?  How  would  it  do  to  take  a  piece  of 
mine  ?  Virginia,  you  might  call  her  Daisy  Russell." 

"  Is  that  your  name,  sir  ?  "  asked  Marjorie. 

"  Yes,  Selden  Russell  Olive,  Daisy." 

"  Then  Miss  Virginia  is  Miss  Clive  ?  " 

"  Bress  de  chile !  of  course  she  be,"  burst  in  Phebe. 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A   GOOD   SAMARITAN.  165 

"  There  's  de  dinner  gong,  missy ;  I  '11  take  care  of  Miss 
Daisy  while  you're  gone." 

"  It 's  very  odd,"  said  Mr.  Olive,  as  they  went  down 
the  hall  toward  the  dining-room;  "that  child  looks  like 
some  one  —  puts  me  in  mind  of  some  one  that  I  know. 
I  think  it 's  more  in  expression  than  feature  ;  a  curious 
lighting  up  of  the  eyes  when  she  smiles.  And,  for  the 
life  of  me,  I  can't  tell  who  it  is  she  resembles.  Are  you 
sure  you  will  not  tire  of  your  Quixotic  scheme,  Virginia  ? 
I  will  consent  to  it  upon  one  condition  ;  if  we  assume  care 
of  the  child,  I  will  not  have  her  thrown  out  helplessly 
upon  the  world.  She  must  be  taught  how  to  take  care 
of  herself." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  intend,"  said  Virginia,  quietly ; 
and  being  by  this  time  at  the  table  d'hote,  they  began 
to  talk  of  other  matters. 

Mr.  Randolph  came  that  evening,  as  he  had  promised, 
and  Mr.  Olive's  greeting  to  the  young  man  was  even 
more  cordial  than  Virginia's.  One  of  the  first  questions 
that  the  young  gentleman  asked  was  about  the  little  girl 
whom  Virginia  had  rescued  that  morning ;  and  when 
Marjorie  came  out  into  the  parlor  on  an  errand  for 
Phebe,  Mr.  Randolph  could  hardly  believe  that  it  was 
the  same  child.  Virginia  enjoyed  his  surprise,  and 
Mr.  Olive  asked  if  he  could  tell  him  how  to  find  out 
where  Randall's  Alley  was. 

"  I  think  that  our  policeman  friend  of  this  morning 
might  afford  us  some  information,"  said  he,  laughing. 
"  Judging  by  that  wretched  woman's  appearance  it  must 
be  one  of  the  worst  dens  in  the  city.  I  happen  to  re- 
member the  man's  number ;  if  you  will  allow  me,  Mr. 
Olive,  I  will  find  him  in  the  morning  and  make  inquiries 
about  the  woman,  and  Randall's  Alley.  Can  I  offer  my 
services  on  the  expedition  ?  " 


166  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Mr.  Clive  thanked  him,  and  accepted  the  offer,  politely. 
Virginia  gave  him  a  grateful  look,  for  which  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph thought  he  would  be  willing  to  take  several  jour- 
neys to  Randall's  Alley  and  back. 

Marjorie's  night's  rest  and  the  happy  awaking  early  in 
the  morning  to  the  recollection  that  she  was  with  kind 
friends  and  had  no  old  Moll  to  beat  her  and  force  her  to 
carry  a  heavy  basket,  brightened  her  face  to  its  old 
serene  expression,  and  she  looked  more  like  the  child  who 
played  with  Regie  than  she  had  ever  done  since  she  left 
Judge  Gray's.  Virginia  began  to  be  intensely  interested 
in  her ;  it  seemed  to  be  Marjorie's  lot  to  fall  in  with 
people  to  whom  her  sweet,  plaintive  face  was  an  appeal 
for  help.  Mr.  Clive  told  Virginia  to  let  the  child  break- 
fast with  them  in  their  parlor,  and  his  keen  eyes  noticed, 
as  Phebe  had  done,  the  entire  ease  and  gentle  propriety 
of  Marjorie's  manner  while  at  the  table.  He  was  careful 
not  to  tell  her  of  his  proposed  visit  to  Randall's  Alley, 
and  when  Mr.  Randolph  came  in,  about  ten  o'clock,  he 
cautioned  him,  aside,  to  say  nothing  of  their  expedition. 

"It  is  such  an  out-of-the-way  place,  Mr.  Clive,"  said 
Mr.  Randolph,  as  they  walked  out  on  the  pavement  in 
front  of  the  hotel.  "  Over  by  the  East  River,  and  (as  I 
supposed)  one  of  the  very  lowest  quarters.  I,  therefore, 
brought  down  my  carriage ;  it 's  at  the  Twenty -third 
Street  entrance." 

The  gentlemen  got  into  it,  and  Mr.  Randolph  gave  his 
coachman  directions  how  to  get  there. 

"  Old  Moll  (as  little  Daisy  calls  her)  was  discharged 
from  the  police  station  early  this  morning.  The  police- 
men say  that  she  is  an  old  offender,  and  has  been  fre- 
quently confined  in  the  Tombs  for  disorderly  conduct. 
My  friend,  No.  32,  who  carried  her  off  yesterday,  says  ho 


MAEJORIE  MEETS   A   GOOD   SAMARITAN.  167 

doubts  very  much  whether  we  find  her,  as  women  of  her 
description  spend  their  time  chiefly  in  the  streets,  begging, 
or  in  low  grog  shops  in  a  state  of  beastly  intoxication." 

After  some  trouble,  Randall's  Alley  and  the  tenement 
where  Moll  lived  was  found ;  a  ragged  urchin  from  the 
corner  grocery  offered  to  show  them  "  where  Mother 
Moll  hang  out,"  and  stumbled  up  the  dark  stair  in  front 
of  them.  Mr.  Olive  buttoned  his  coat  carefully  over  his 
gold  \vatch  and  chain  before  venturing  up,  and  whispered 
to  Mr.  Randolph  that  he  felt  very  much  as  if  he  was 
plunging  blindly  into  a  den  of  thieves. 

"  There  's  the  room,"  said  the  ragged  boy,  giving  a 
thump  on  the  door.  "  Likely  you'll  find  old  Moll  on  the 
floor  —  it 's  the  most  comf ortablist  place  fur  she,  when 
she  can't  stand,  yer  see." 

"  Stop  grinning,"  said  Mr.  Randolph,  giving  him  a 
quarter. 

"  Thank  ye,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  grinning  more  than 
ever  at  the  munificent  gift,  which  far  exceeded  his  ex- 
pectations. "  Guess  I'll  open  the  door ;  nobody  to  home." 

"  What 's  wanting  ?  "  said  a  faint  voice,  as  they  paused 
on  the  threshold.  Mr.  Olive's  eyes,  as  they  gradually 
became  accustomed  to  the  dim  light,  saw  a  squalid  figure 
upon  a  straw  bed  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  a  pair  of 
sad,  sunken  eyes  regarding  the  intruders  with  a  frown. 

"  Does  a  woman  live  here  whose  name  is  Moll  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Olive,  seeing  that  his  companion  left  matters  to  him, 
now  that  they  had  reached  their  destination. 

"  Who  's  wanting  her  ?  "  said  Nancy,  groaning  as  she 
tried  to  raise  herself  on  her  elbow.  "She  hain't  been 
here  since  yesterday  morning,  —  like  as  not  she  's  locked 
up." 

"  Are  you  Nancy?  "  asked  Mr.  Olive,  drawing  a  little 


168  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

nearei,  but  not  too  close,  as  he  had  a  nervous  horror  of 
catching  a  fever  or  some  infectious  disease.  Indeed,  it 
was  a  strong  proof  of  his  interest  in  the  little  waif  his 
daughter  had  found  that  he  should  have  offered  to  come 
into  such  a  place  to  make  inquiries  about  her. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Nancy  ?  "  said  she,  with 
some  alarm  in  her  tone.  "  I've  been  doing  nothing  sure  ; 
flat  on  my  back  here  for  four  weeks  with  rheumatiz." 

"  I  only  want  to  ask  you  about  a  little  girl "  —  Nancy 
interrupted  him  with  a  cry. 

"  There  ain't  no  harm  come  to  my  little  Mary  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Clive.  "  My  daughter  found  a 
little  girl  with  an  old  woman  in  a  Broadway  car  yester- 
day, and  as  she  seemed  to  treat  the  child  cruelly,  she 
ventured  to  interfere." 

"  The  poor  little  darlint !  "  cried  Nancy,  with  a  string 
of  curses  for  Moll.  "  An'  is  she  quite  safe,  now  ?  " 

Mr.  Clive  told  the  story  in  as  few  words  as  possible, 
and  then  asked  the  woman  if  the  child  was  any  relation 
of  hers.  Nancy  glanced  uneasily  at  the  faces  beside  her. 

"  Send  the  boy  away,"  said  she,  suddenly.  "  It 's  little 
I  knows,  but  I'll  tell  ye  that,  an'  welcome." 

"  It  was  one  hot  night  about  two  months  back  (an* 
more,  may  be ;  I  am  not  quite  rightly  as  to  dates) 
when  Moll  came  home  wid  the  child.  It  's  reeling 
drunk  she  was ;  and  I  thought  the  young  one  was  kilt 
entirely,  for  she  had  a  big  cut  the  size  of  me  finger  on 
her  head,  an'  I  had  to  cut  off  her  hair  there  —  ye  may 
find  the  scar  now.  And  it's  very  ill  and  like  to  die 
Mary  was.  I  did  me  best,  sir ;  I  tried  to  keep  her  from 
old  Moll,  and  I  got  medicine  fur  her,  and  nursed  her  till 
she  got  able  to  go  around  again.  But  where  she  came 
from,  or  who  she  is,  I  know  no  more  than  ye  does.  An' 


MARJORIE   MEETS   A   GOOD   SAMARITAN.  169 

if  ye'll  only  kape  her,  an'  be  kind  to  her  it 's  all  I  ask ;  as 
party  and  swate  a  child  as  iver  lived,  with  eyes  like  my 
Jim's." 

Evidently  this  was  all  Nancy  knew,  for  although  she 
repeated  the  story  several  times,  the  main  facts  never 
varied.  She  gave,  as  her  opinion,  that  Moll  knew  no 
more  than  she,  for,  as  she  said,  the  child  had  no  rich 
clothes  or  jewelry  upon  her  person,  which  would  have 
been  the  only  temptation  to  Moll  to  steal  her.  Nancy 
did  not  know  of  the  gold  beads,  or  she  might  have 
changed  her  opinion.  Nancy  said  that  Moll  was  some- 
times absent  days  at  a  time,  and  she  gave  so  little  hope 
of  learning  anything  new  from  her  that  Mr.  Clive  relin- 
quished the  idea.  He  gave  Nancy  a  handsome  sum  of 
money,  however,  and  told  her  that  the  child  had  spoken 
gratefully  and  kindly  of  her  care,  and  was  going  away, 
when  a  sudden  thought  made  him  turn  back. 

"  If  you  need  assistance,  or  if  you  hear,  at  any  time, 
any  story  from  Moll  about  the  child,  I  will  give  you  di- 
rections to  a  place  down  town  where  you  can  go  with  the 
information.  Can  you  read  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  stammered  Nancy,  shamefacedly.  "  I  can 
read  printing,  sure." 

Mr.  Clive  put  back  the  card  upon  which  he  had  in- 
tended writing,  and  gave  her  the  business  card  of  Clive 
Bros,  instead.  Then  he  bade  Nancy  good-by,  kindly ; 
Mr.  Randolph  stayed  behind  to  add  his  gift  to  her  little 
store,  and  Nancy's  loud  spoken  blessings  followed  them 
down-stairs. 

"  It  is  a  most  mysterious  affair,"  said  Mr.  Clive,  as 
they  picked  their  way  back  to  the  side  street  where  the 
carriage  was  standing.  "  I  am  almost  as  much  interested 
as  Virginia  herself.  I  wonder  if  advertising  would  do 


170  MARJORIE  S   QUEST. 

any  good  ?  As  we  have  no  date  to  go  by  —  Lord  bless 
my  soul !  stop  him,  stop  him  !  " 

A  man,  a  very  singular  looking  man  too,  with  bright 
black  eyes,  and  long  white  hair  hanging  down  on  his 
shoulders,  had  just  passed  the  two  gentlemen,  and  as  Mr. 
Clive  uttered  this  exclamation  in  an  excited  voice,  he 
darted  with  great  rapidity  between  the  narrow  passage 
way  of  two  houses,  and  disappeared  before  Mr.  Clive 
could  follow  him. 

"  My  dear  sir  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Randolph,  in  amaze- 
ment, "  did  that  extraordinary  individual  rob  you  ?  Shall 
I  go  for  a  policeman — though  I  doubt  if  I  can  find  one 
in  this  locality." 

Mr.  Clive  had  by  this  time  turned  very  pale.  "  No 
matter,"  said  he,  faintly,  taking  Mr.  Randolph's  offered 
arm  as  a  support.  "  It  looked  like  the  ghost  of  a  scoun- 
drel whom  I  thought  was  dead  and  buried  long  ago. 
Strangely  enough,  when  I  was  in  New  York  last  August, 
a  distinguished  Judge  of  your  State  asked  me  for  infor- 
mation of  that  very  fellow.  I  must  let  him  know  that 
the  man  is  alive.  He,"  Mr.  Clive  hesitated  as  he  got 
into  the  carriage,  —  "  he  (if  that  is  the  man  I  suppose) 
was  concerned  in  a  very  unhappy  matter  in  relation  to 
my  youngest  brother.  May  I  ask  you  to  say  nothing  of 
this  to  my  daughter  ?  She  was  very  fond  of  her  uncle, 
though  quite  young  at  the  time  she  saw  him  last,  and  I 
do  not  wish  to  agitate  that  matter  again  just  at  pres- 
ent." 

Mr.  Randolph  of  course  assured  Mr.  Clive  that  he 
would  not  mention  the  subject  to  Virginia,  and  in  a  short 
time  the  elder  gentleman  regained  his  composure,  and  the 
conversation  turned  upon  other  topics,  as  they  drove 
down  to  Wall  Street. 


WHAT   CAME  OF  MISS   CLIVE'S   WHIM.  171 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

WHAT   CAME   OF  MISS   CLIVERS   WHIM. 

"  TVTISS  VIRGINIA>"  said  Marjorie,  laying  down  her 

-L*l-  book  with  a  sober  face,  a  little  sigh  treading 
upon  her  last  words,  "  do  you  suppose  I'll  ever  find  my 
father  ? " 

They  were  sitting  in  Virginia's  room,  which  was  as 
bright  and  cheerful  as  it  was  possible  for  a  room  to  be ; 
a  brisk  wood  fire  crackled  away  on  the  hearth,  and  Mar- 
jorie sat  directly  in  front  of  it  on  a  low  stool,  her  book  on 
her  lap.  Virginia  had  been  quietly  watching  her  for 
several  moments,  and  the  shade  that  had  slowly  stolen 
over  her  face  was  explained  by  her  question. 

<;  My  dear  child  !  Are  you  puzzling  your  poor  little 
brain  over  the  old  problem  ?  Don't  you  remember  that 
papa  told  you,  you  must  not  even  try  to  think  about  the 
past  ?  And  what  made  you  think  of  your  father  just 
now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  seem  to  remember  him  at  all,"  said  Marjorie. 
"  But  I've  either  talked  about  finding  him  to  somebody, 
or  else  I  dreamed  it." 

"  Try  to  believe  it  a  dream,"  said  Virginia,  smiling. 
Much  as  she  was  interested  in  Marjorie's  recollections  it 
gave  her  a  nervous  feeling  to  see  the  child's  painful  en- 
deavor to  determine  which  was  reality  and  which  imag- 
ination in  the  few  links  that  her  memory  could  gather 
up,  so  she  changed  the  subject  skillfully  by  opening  a 
carved  cabinet  which  stood  at  one  side  of  the  room,  and 
asking  Marjorie  whether  she  did  not  want  to  look  at  its 


172  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

contents.  Phebe  had  given  glowing  descriptions  of  the 
beauty  of  "  Miss  Ginny's  "  jewels  therein  contained,  and 
Marjorie  came  eagerly  to  Virginia's  side  to  examine  the 
cases  and  boxes  which  filled  the  drawers. 

"  A  great  many  of  these  were  my  mother's,"  said  Vir- 
ginia, opening  a  case  which  held  a  necklace  of  large, 
pure  pearls.  "  She  wore  these  the  night  she  was  mar- 
ried, Daisy.  I  have  a  picture  of  her  with  that  very  neck- 
lace around  her  throat.  I'll  show  it  to  you,  presently. 
These  funny,  old-fashioned  gold  beads,  and  pink  topaz 
bracelets  belonged  to  my  grandmother  (papa's  mother  I 
mean)  :  aren't  they  pretty  ?  "  and  she  slipped  one  around 
her  white  wrist,  where  it  sparkled  very  becomingly. 

"  O,  Miss  Virginia !  *'  cried  Marjorie,  in  delight,  as 
she  hung  over  a  costly  and  beautiful  cross  of  diamonds 
and  rubies,  with  ear-rings  of  the  same  gems.  "  I  never 
saw  anything  so  lovely  —  never  !  It  looks  like  a  cross 
of  tears,  with  drops  of  blood  at  the  heart." 

"  You  fanciful  Daisy -blossom  !  You  make  me  feel  un- 
comfortable. Where  do  you  get  your  odd  ideas,  I  won- 
der ?  And  how  do  you  like  this  ?  " 

This,  was  a  tiny  dove,  formed  of  small  diamonds,  with 
a  little  gold  ring  in  its  beak,  from  which  hung  a  large 
sapphire,  the  whole  being  intended  as  a  pendant  for  the 
neck.  The  design  was  beautiful,  and  Marjorie  gazed  at 
it  in  speechless  admiration. 

"  It 's  just  like  the  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  Miss  Vir- 
ginia, as  they  looked  yesterday  when  we  were  driving. 
Did  Mr.  Olive  give  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Daisy  :  that  belonged  to  my  mother.  Somebody 
whom  I  loved  very  much  gave  it  to  her.  Dear  Uncle 
George  !  "  cried  Virginia,  warmly.  "  How  I  wish  I  could 
see  you  again." 


WHAT    CAME    OF   MISS    OLIVE'S   WHIM.  173 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  Marjorie,  timidly. 

"  No,  Daisy,  but  he 's  very  far  away,  hundreds  of 
miles,  —  in  China,  and  I  don't  know  when  he  will  come 
home.  Here,  in  that  under  drawer,  are  some  curiously 
carved  fans  which  he  sent  to  me  when  I  was  a  little  girl. 
He  used  to  live  here  once,  long  ago  ;  my  mother  was 
very  fond  of  him." 

Marjorie  thought  that  the  ivory  fans  with  the  queer 
houses  and  birds  and  junks  carved  on  them,  were  the 
oddest  things  she  could  possibly  imagine.  Virginia  ex- 
plained to  her  what  they  were,  and  then  she  opened  an- 
other division  of  her  cabinet  to  look  for  the  miniature  of 
her  mother  which  she  had  promised  to  show  her,  and  put 
a  case  into  Marjorie's  hand. 

"  This  isn't  it,"  said  Marjorie,  as  she  opened  the  clasp. 
"  O  !  what  a  handsome  man  ;  he  looks  a  little  —  a  very 
little,  like  Mr.  Clive.  It  can't  be  he  ;  is  it  ?  " 

"  Dear  me,  I  gave  you  the  wrong  picture,"  said  Vir- 
ginia, looking  a  little  annoyed.  "  Daisy,  I  shall  have  to 
ask  you  not  to  speak  of  having  seen  that  before  papa. 
It 's  a  miniature  of  the  uncle  I  was  just  talking  about — 
papa's  youngest  brother." 

Marjorie  seemed  to  like  the  picture,  for  she  gazed  at  it 
for  some  moments  in  silence.  Virginia  drew  her  close  to 
her  side  and  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  it. 

"  Poor  Uncle  George  !  "  she  sighed,  softly. 

"Did  he  do  anything  naughty  ?  "  asked  Marjorie,  lift- 
ing her  clear  gray  eyes  to  Virginia's  face. 

"  Well "  —  Virginia  hesitated.  "  It 's  a  long  story, 
dear.  He  is  my  grandfather's  third  son  ;  papa  is  the  eld- 
est ;  Uncle  Percy,  who  lives  in  New  York,  comes  next ; 
and  then  Uncle  George.  He,  Uncle  George,  was  so  gay 
and  merry,  and  such  a  tall,  handsome  fellow.  He  used 


174  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

to  ride  me  on  his  shoulder  when  I  was  a  little  girl ;  I 
haven't  seen  him  for  eleven  years, — not  since  I  was  ten 
years  old,  —  but  I  love  him  just  as  well  as  ever." 

"  Why  won't  he  come  home  ?  "  asked  Marjorie,  as  Vir- 
ginia paused. 

"  Because  my  grandfather  had  a  terrible  quarrel  with 
him,  Daisy.  The  very  last  time  I  saw  Uncle  George  was 
just  before  he  sailed  for  Europe,  where  grandfather  was 
sending  him  on  business  for  the  firm.  He  displeased  his 
father  dreadfully  by  marrying  without  his  consent.  I 
don't  know  who  the  lady  was  —  none  of  us  know,  unless, 
perhaps,  papa.  And  O !  Daisy,  grandpa  is  a  hard  old 
man,  for  he  vowed  that  he  would  never  see  poor  Uncle 
George  again,  after  this  unhappy  marriage.  Uncle  George 
came  back  to  this  country,  and  was  very  ill  indeed  in  New 
York,  at  my  uncle  Percy's ;  I  remember  that  no  one  dared 
to  let  grandpa  know  he  was  there.  Papa  went  on  to  see 
him,  and  tried  to  get  grandpa  to  listen  to  reason,  but  he 
was  very  angry  with  papa  for  his  interference.  When 
Uncle  George  got  well  he  went  away  to  China,  and  has 
been  there  ever  since.  I  don't  know  very  much  about 
that  time ;  papa  does  not  like  to  have  me  ask  too  many 
questions ;  but  I  know  he  hears  from  Uncle  George  every 
little  while.  I  want  him  at  home,"  cried  Virginia,  forget- 
ting to  whom  she  was  talking,  the  tears  springing  into 
her  bright  brown  eyes.  "  I  mean  to  ask  papa  if  I  can't 
write  to  him." 

"  It 's  too  bad,  Miss  Virginia,"  said  Marjorie,  with 
quick  sympathy.  "  The  picture  has  such  a  kind  look. 
It  makes  me  think  "  — 

"  Stop  thinking ! "  said  Virginia,  suddenly,  stopping 
her  lips,  with  a  playful  hand.  "  I  won't  have  it ;  mind, 
Daisy.  What  a  long  story  I've  been  telling  you.  I 


WHAT   CAME   OF   MISS    OLIVE'S   WHIM.  176 

never  look  at  Uncle  George's  picture  ;  it  makes  me  feel 
so  badly  to  think  of  the  strange,  mysterious  cloud  over 
him.  Here  is  the  picture  I  meant  to  show  you ;  the  cases 
are  just  alike." 

"  How  very  much  like  you,"  cried  Marjorie.  "  It  looks 
as  if  it  were  taken  for  you.  What  a  pretty  dress  —  and 
there  are  the  pearls,  just  as  you  said.  Miss  Virginia," 
with  a  change  of  voice,  "  how  old  were  you  when  your 
mother  died  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  fifteen,  Daisy ;  just  wanting  my  mother 
most.  My  poor  child,"  and  Marjorie  was  drawn  close  to 
Virginia's  heart,  —  "  that  morning  when  I  saw  you  first, 
I  knew  you  were  an  orphan  from  the  hungry,  motherless 
look  of  your  eyes,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that  if  I  could 
put  a  little  joy  in  your  life  you  should  have  it." 

Marjorie  clung  to  her  lovely  friend  with  gratitude  and 
admiring  affection  too  strong  for  utterance,  as  she  kissed 
the  soft  lips  many  times. 

"  I  know  just  how  lonely  you  feel,  my  little  Daisy, 
though  part  of  your  life  has  been  hard  and  cruel,  and 
mine  has  been  bright  and  full  of  sunshine.  We  want  our 
mothers,  don't  we,  dear  ?  Perhaps  they  are  together  up 
in  the  blue  skies,  and  are  glad  because  I  found  you.  I  am 
not  very  much  older  than  you,  but  I've  always  depended 
so  much  on  myself  that  it  makes  me  seem  older  than  I 
am,  and  you  must  learn  to  depend  on  me,  and  tell  me  if 
anything  troubles  you." 

Marjorie  promised,  and  the  loving  words  were  written 
on  her  heart  in  letters  as  bright  as  the  tears  that  hung  on 
her  long  lashes. 

"  Bress  the  chile  !  "  said  Phebe,  putting  her  head  in- 
side the  door.  "  If  you'se  going  out  dis  afternoon  better 
be  getting  ready.  John  's  at  de  door,  and  those  hosses  is 


176  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

prancing  because  dey  don't  like  to  be  waiting.  Shall  I 
put  on  li'le  Missy  Daisy's  hat  ?  " 

Phebe,  of  her  own  accord,  had  adopted  the  respectful 
prefix  of  "  Miss  "  before  Marjorie's  name,  and  when  Vir- 
ginia asked  her  why  she  did  so,  answered,  "  LaAvs,  Miss 
Ginny,  dat  chile  is  a  born  lady  for  sure ;  I  cant  call  her 
nuffin  else,  and  I  reckon  she  's  been  spoken  to  dat  way, 
'fore  now.  You  see  some  day,  Phebe  tells  de  trufe." 

Marjorie  had  been  in  Philadelphia  nearly  two  months, 
and  Virginia  had  thought  much  and  deeply  of  what  plan 
she  should  pursue  with  the  child.  She  laid  out  the  day 
very  systematically  for  her  little  protege*,  and  had  regu- 
lar hours  for  study,  sending  her  to  walk  with  Phebe  the 
days  that  she  did  not  take  her  in  the  carriage.  Virginia's 
yoitng  friends  laughed  and  shrugged  their  shoulders  at 
what  they  called  her  last  whim;  and  one  lady,  an  old 
friend  of  the  family,  considered  it  to  be  her  duty  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Clive  about  the  child  who,  as  the  story  went,  had 
been  picked  up  in  the  street  in  New  York. 

But  Mr.  Clive  was  courteous  and  imperturbable  as  ever, 
and  the  officious  lady  was  heard  to  declare,  in  a  much 
vexed  voice,  that  "  he  was  every  bit  as  bad  as  that  spoiled 
daughter  of  his  —  perhaps  rather  more  so,  as  there  's  no 
fool  equal  to  an  old  fool !  " 

For  her  friends'  comments  Virginia  cared  very  little ; 
all  she  desired  was  to  conscientiously  fulfill  her  duty 
toward  the  child  in  whom  she  felt  such  warm  interest. 
She  had  a  plan  only  waiting  for  her  father's  approval  to 
be  carried  out,  and  the  evening  of  the  day  when  she  told 
Marjorie  her  uncle's  story  she  had  an  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  him  about  it  which  she  was  not  slow  to 
Improve. 

They  dined  alone  that  night,  and  after  Marjorie  had 


WHAT    CAME   OF   MISS   CLIVE'S   WHIM.  177 

listened  to  Virginia's  singing  for  half  an  hour,  Phebe 
came  for  her,  and  with  a  soft  good-night  kiss  from.  Vir- 
ginia, and  a  pleasant  nod  from  Mr.  Olive  she  went  up- 
stairs, to  bed. 

Virginia  waited  until  her  father  had  finished  his  even- 
ing paper,  and  then,  having  lit  another  cigar  for  him,  she 
took  her  favorite  seat  on  a  low  stool  beside  him. 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Moulton  to-day,  papa,"  began  she.  "  It 
looked  so  pleasant  there.  I  went  into  the  school-room, 
and  I  declare,  I  could  almost  imagine  myself  a  scholar 
again." 

"  You  don't  want  to  go  back  to  Madame  Dubarry's?  " 
said  Mr.  Clive,  with  a  look  of  comical  alarm.  "  That 
Frenchwoman  and  her  bills  were  a  perfect  swindle." 

"  Poor  Madame,"  said  Virginia,  smiling.  "  You  never 
forgave  her  for  that  fib  she  told  about  the  German  lessons. 
No,  don't  be  alarmed,  papa ;  I  have  no  desire  to  return 
to  that  school.  But  you  know  you  always  liked  dear  Mrs. 
Moulton." 

"  She  is  a  fine  woman,  a  very  fine  woman,"  said  Mr. 
Clive,  quite  warmly,  for  him.  "  How  is  she  getting 
along  with  her  school?  " 

"  Only  pretty  well,  I  fancy.  I  thought  I  should  rec- 
ommend Mrs.  Peyton  to  send  her  little  girls  there  ;  it 
would  be  a  great  help  to  get  a  few  more  scholars.  Papa," 
with  a  pretty  little  glance  of  entreaty,  "  I  have  been 
thinking  that  I  would  like  to  send  Daisy  there,  if  you 
think  best." 

"  Ha !  "  said  Mr.  Clive,  with  a  pinch  of  her  cheek  as 
it  grew  rosy  under  his  keen  glance.  "  That  was  what 
was  coming,  eh?  I  knew  something  must  be  wanting 
when  you  got  into  your  coaxing  seat :  what  did  Mrs. 
Moulton  think  of  your  fine  scheme,  pray  ?  " 
12 


178  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  She  was  very  much  pleased  with  Daisy,  and  I  had  a 
long  conversation  with  her  alone.  I  think  she  would  be 
an  excellent  person  to  take  charge  of  her.  You  see,  papa," 
very  humbly,  "  I  am  young,  and  I  am  so  afraid  I  might 
make  mistakes.  I  might  indulge  Daisy  too  much,  or,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  might  not  be  firm  enough.  And  I'm  hot, 
and  quick  too,  and  perhaps  if  I  reproved  her  too  severely 
I  should  do  more  harm  than  good." 

Mr.  Clive  looked  at  the  face  that  was  so  fair  in  its  self- 
depreciation,  and  thought  that  there  would  not  be  much 
danger  of  its  owner's  doing  anything  very  far  from  right, 
but  he  did  not  say  so. 

"  And  what  if  I  say  I  think  it  too  expensive  a  plan  ?  " 
said  he.  "  To  educate  Daisy  thoroughly  and  fit  her  for 
being  a  governess,  will  cost  a  pretty  little  sum.  It  will 
be  a  six  years'  piece  of  work." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  would  refuse,"  said  Virginia,  a 
little  startled. 

"  And  if  I  do  ?  " 

"  Then,"  said  she,  very  quietly,  but  with  a  certain 
dignity  that,  though  perfectly  respectful,  was  very  de- 
termined, "  I  should  be  obliged  to  ask  you  for  some  of 
my  money  —  mamma's  money  I  mean  —  to  do  it.  I 
have  assumed  the  responsibility  of  Daisy's  future,  and 
it  would  hardly  be  just  in  me  not  to  do  all  in  my  power 
for  her." 

Mr.  Olive's  glance  at  the  downcast  face  was  full  of 
proud,  tender  satisfaction. 

"  Right,"  said  he,  heartily.  "  There  spoke  the  Clive 
will." 

"  O,  papa  !    Have  I  said  anything  I  ought  not  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  little  daughter,"  and  to  Virginia's  sur- 
prise, her  father's  usually  firm  voice  was  a  little  unsteady. 


WHAT    CAME    OF   MISS   CLIVE'S   WHIM.  1 

4  <~ 

u  You  are  very  judicious  in  all  you  say,  and  you  have 
evidently  thought  well  over  your  plans  for  Daisy.  I 
have  no  objection  to  them,  and  I  will  see  that  the  bills 
are  paid.  What  an  independent  young  woman  I  have 
for  a  daughter !  We  have  suddenly  remembered  our 
one-and-twenty  years,  eh  ?  " 

"  O,  thank  you,  papa  —  once,  for  Daisy,  and  many, 
many  times  for  myself,"  cried  Virginia,  throwing  both 
arms  around  his  neck.  "  It  wasn't  the  twenty  one  years 
at  all,  sir.  I  thought  you  were  in  earnest ;  I  ought  to 
have  known  you  were  only  teasing  me." 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  after  a  few  moments,  during  which 
she  had  been  trying  to  gain  courage.  "  I  want  to  ask 
another  favor  of  you.  Don't  be  angry,  please ;  won't 
you  tell  me  something  about  Uncle  George  ?  " 

Mr.  Clive  started.  "  What  has  set  you  thinking  of 
him  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  I  was  looking  over  mamma's  cabinet  this  morning, 
and  I  came  across  his  picture.  Have  you  heard  from 
him  lately?" 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father,  with  a  quick  glance  at  her. 
"  He  is  thinking  of  coming  home." 

"  Papa !  you  don't  mean  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  We  never  have  talked  about  the  matter  much, 
Virginia,  because  it  was  such  a  sad  piece  of  business,  but 
I  am  ready  to  answer  you  any  questions  you  choose  to 
ask,  now.  If  he  comes  home  you  might  hear  the  com- 
ments of  others,  outsiders,  and  I  should  not  like  to  have 
you  appear  ignorant.  Percy  and  I  both  wrote  to  George 
and  advised  his  coming  back ;  your  grandfather  failed  a 
good  deal  last  winter,  and  we  think  that  perhaps  he  may, 
at  the  last,  relent,  and  ask  for  George, — in  which  case, 
your  uncle  should  be  here." 


IV)  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Virginia  in  a  low  voice,  full  of 
deep  feeling.  "Will  he  bring  his  wife  with  him ?  " 

"  My  dear  child !  But  I  forgot  —  you  do  not  know  the 
mystery  which  hangs  over  that  unhappy  lady.  George, 
after  receiving  a  very  harsh  letter  from  your  grandfather, 
came  to  this  country,  leaving  her  in  England.  Imme- 
diately after  his  arrival  here  he  was  taken  violently 
ill "  — 

"I  remember  that — you  went  to  New  York  to  see 
him,"  said  Virginia. 

"  Yes.  His  wife  not  hearing  from  him  (or  from  some 
other  cause  which  we  know  nothing  of),  sailed  for  this 
country,  with  her  child,  and  from  that  time  has  never 
been  heard  of." 

"  How  shocking  !  "  cried  Virginia. 

"  You  would  have  said  so  if  you  could  have  seen  the 
distress  he  displayed  when,  upon  writing  to  her,  after  he 
recovered,  he  learned  from  the  people  with  whom  she 
boarded  that  she  had  sailed  for  this  country.  I  say, 
sailed  ;  he  was  never  able  to  ascertain  definitely  that  she 
arrived  here.  She  must  have  taken  passage  under  an 
assumed  name,  for  the  most  vigilant  search  could  discover 
nothing.  It  nearly  threw  your  uncle  into  another  fever  ; 
though,  I  must  say,  hard  as  it  sounds,  that  perhaps  the 
poor  lady's  disappearance  was  the  best  thing  for  George, 
as,  although  your  grandfather  may  forgive  him,  he  would 
never  accept  her  as  a  daughter." 

"  Was  she  so  very  dreadful  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear,"  smiling  at  Virginia's  expres- 
sion. "  The  subject  was  a  very  painful  one,  and  I  asked 
George  as  few  questions  about  it  as  possible.  Your 
uncle  Percy  knew  more  about  it  than  I  did ;  George  told 
him  more  of  the  particulars.  I  only  know  that  she  was 


WHAT    CAME    OF   MISS   CLIVF/S   WHIM.  181 

a  Frenchwoman,  and  called  very  handsome.  George  was 
so  young,  only  twenty -four,  and  he  was  open  to  tempta- 
tion in  the  form  of  a  handsome  intriguing  woman.  A 
confounded,  scheming  nation,"  added  Mr.  Clive,  who 
evidently  shared  his  father's  prejudice.  "It's  just  as 
well  that  the  poor  lady  has  disappeared,  but  I  feel  very 
sorry  about  the  child." 

"  Was  it  a  boy  or  a  girl  ?  "  asked  Virginia. 

"  I  don't  remember,  but  it  would  have  been  a  comfort 
to  poor  George  out  in  China.  I  must  tell  you  that  he 
has  made  a  strong  position  for  himself  there.  He  is  a 
partner  in  the  concern  where  we  got  him  a  clerkship,  and 
must  be  very  wealthy.  China  is  a  great  field,  if  one  can 
only  make  up  his  mind  to  be  an  exile." 

"  Thank  you  very  much  for  telling  me  all  the  story," 
said  Virginia,  rising,  as  she  saw  that  her  father  had 
finished  his  cigar.  "  Are  you  going  out,  papa  ?  Then, 
good-night ;  I  am  tired  with  my  long  drive  to-day,  and 
shall  go  to  bed  early." 

The  next  day  Virginia  told  Marjorie  what  her  pro- 
posed plan  of  sending  her  to  school  was.  The  child  was 
delighted ;  she  seemed  to  have  suddenly  acquired  an 
ardent  thirst  for  learning,  and  the  prospect  of  being  with 
the  pleasant-looking,  sweet-voiced  lady  whom  she  had 
seen  the  day  before  was  very  chai-ming.  She  was  con- 
quering her  shyness  now,  in  a  measure,  and  liked  the 
idea  of  being  at  school  with  other  little  girls  of  her  own 
age. 

Virginia  concluded  that  it  would  be  best  to  enter  the 
child  regularly  as  a  boarder,  only  coming  home  once  a 
month,  as  the  other  scholars  did,  resolving  that  the 
monthly  holidays  should  be  holidays  indeed,  with  all 
the  brightness  that  she  could  put  into  them.  Marjorie  en- 


182  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

tered  with  great  interest  into  all  the  preparations  which 
Virginia  saw  fit  to  make  for  her,  and  Mr.  Clive  told 
his  daughter  to  see  that  she  had  all  her  wants  supplied 
in  a  liberal  manner. 

The  first  week  of  the  New  Year  saw  Marjorie  estab- 
lished at  Mrs.  Moulton's  school,  under  charge  of  one 
whom  Virginia  felt  was  in  every  way  calculated  to  make 
the  child  happy.  And  there,  in  her  own  little  room, 
sitting  contentedly  by  the  window  with  a  pile  of  study- 
books  before  her,  we  will  say  good-by  to  Marjorie's 
troubled  childhood,  and  take  a  story-teller's  privilege  of  a 
leap  into  the  future  which  now  lies  like  an  unwritten 
page  before  the  calm  gray  eyes,  and  the  simple  faith  of 
our  little  heroine. 


SIX  YEARS   AFTER.  —  PUCK   AND   POSY.  183 

CHAPTER   XV. 

SIX  YEARS  AFTER.  —  PUCK  AND   POSY. 

"  HP  AIN'T  any  use  of  talkin'  ! "  said  Puck,  gazing  dis- 

-•-  consolately  out  of  the  window,  both  chubby  fists 
rammed  into  his  pockets  with  the  desperation  of  despair. 
" '  Tain't  any  use  of  talkin' !  "  Whenever  I  pwopose  to 
go  to  the  fwog  pond  it  always  wains." 

"  Jonathan  Edwards  Frost !  "  exclaimed  Posy,  drop- 
ping her  doll  in  scandalized  amazement.  "  Ain't  you 
ashamed  to  be  wishing  for  fine  weather,  and  the  earth 
going  at  a  loss  for  rain  ?  " 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  said  Puck  doggedly.  "It  hasn't  wained 
for  two  weeks,  and  it  might  have  waited  for  one  day,  I 
should  think.  And  I  wanted  a  gween  fwog  dweffully  ; 
wish  it  never  would  wain  again  !  " 

"  You're  a  naughty,  selfish  boy,"  said  Posy,  energet- 
ically, with  the  funny  little  bob  of  her  head  with  which 
she  was  wont  to  emphasize  her  remarks.  "  Don't  I  tell 
you  that  the  earth 's  going  at  a  loss  for  rain  ?  Silvy  said 
so  last  night  to  Aunt  Debby,  and  I  heard  her.  God 
won't  love  you  one  bit  if  you  scold  Him  that  way." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  demanded  Puck,  promptly. 
"  I  asked  Aunt  Debby  yesterday  if  you  mightn't  come 
along,  and  she  said  if  I'd  be  very  good,  she'd  see.  And," 
in  an  insinuating  voice,  "  I  was  goin'  to  catch  a  fwog  for 
you,  Posy  ;  a  gween  one,  with  gweat  big  eyes." 

"  Were  you  ?  "  said  Posy,  eagerly,  forgetting  her  con- 
scientious scruples  with  amiable  celerity  at  this  attractive 
offer.  "  O  !  p'r'aps  it  will  clear  up  by  and  by,  and  if  it 


184  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

don't,  you  just  pray  for  fine  weather  to-morrow,  and  I'll 
pray  too,  hard.  You're  a  good  boy,  me  dear,  to  think  of 
your  little  sister,"  and  Posy  gave  the  sturdy  shoulder 
nearest  her  a  most  motherly  pat. 

"  Well,"  said  Puck,  turning  away  from  the  window, 
and  making  up  his  mind  that  there  was  not  a  solitary 
patch  of  blue  sky  to  be  seen  above  the  trees,  "  let 's  go 
down-stairs  and  see  Chloe  in  the  kitchen ;  I'm  tired  to 
deff  of  stayin'  in  the  nursewy." 

The  plan  met  with  Posy's  approbation,  for  whatever 
mischief  did  not  originate  in  Puck's  busy  brain  was  cer- 
tain to  be  found  in  his  little  five-year-old  sister's,  and 
the  pair  trotted  off  to  the  kitchen  as  fast  as  their  fat  legs 
could  carry  them,  Puck  trying  a  slide  down  the  banis- 
ters on  the  way,  and  motioning  silence  to  Posy  as  they 
crept  past  the  room  where  Grandma  Frost  and  Aunt 
Debby  sat. 

It  was  a  large  old-fashioned  house  on  a  Southern  plan- 
tation, and  built  very  much  as  all  planters'  houses  are, 
except  that  the  kitchen  was  not  away  from  the  house,  as 
is  commonly  the  case,  but  connected  with  the  back-rooms 
on  the  ground-floor  by  a  hall.  This  had  been  added  when 
old  Mrs.  Frost  and  her  niece,  Miss  Deborah,  came  to  live 
with  her  grandson,  for  the  old  lady  had  lived  at  the  North 
all  her  life,  and  could  not  reconcile  herself  to  an  outside 
kitchen,  or,  as  Aunt  Debby  expressed  it,  "  she  wanted 
to  have  things  handy,"  The  family  was  not  a  large  one, 
now :  Reuben  Frost,  the  father  of  Puck  and  Posy,  was 
dead,  and  grandma  lived  at  the  plantation  with  Aunt 
Debby,  and  another  grandchild,  Dora  Lyndon,  who  was 
the  child  of  her  only  daughter.  Mrs.  Frost  was  the 
children's  guardian,  and  beside,  although  the  plantation 
was  going  to  wreck  and  ruin  on  account  of  the  war,  she 


SIX   YEAKS   AFTER.  —  PUCK  AND  POSY.  185 

felt  that  she  must  remain  there  to  save  what  she  could 
for  Puck  and  Posy  from  the  confiscating  fingers  of  her 
secession  neighbors. 

The  two  small  sinners  made  their  raid  upon  the  kitchen 
with  grand  success  and  the  usual  commotion  which  at- 
tended their  efforts  to  amuse  themselves.  Chloe  was 
busy  making  soda  biscuit  when  they  arrived,  and  good- 
naturedly  gave  them  a  bit  of  dough  to  experiment  upon, 
first  tying  a  big  apron  before  each  one  to  protect  their 
clothes.  Posy  dug  away  sturdily  at  her  portion,  but  Puck 
grew  tired  of  such  "girl's  work,"  and  was  inspired  with 
an  idea  of  improving  Chloe's  biscuit  by  sticking  a  few 
black  pins  in  them,  and  making  believe  that  the  heads 
were  raisins.  He  accomplished  this  feat  successfully 
while  Chloe's  back  was  turned,  and  then,  pulling  off  his 
apron,  pondered  upon  what  mischief  he  could  perform 
next.  The  faucet  of  the  water-tank  suggested  how  funny 
it  would  be  to  turn  on  the  water  until  it  overflowed  the 
pan  beneath  ;  that  would  save  Chloe  the  trouble  of  wash- 
ing the  floor,  and  beside,  it  would  run  into  the  rat-hole 
by  the  fire-place,  and  if  the  rat  was  at  home  he  would  be 
forced  to  run  out,  and  how  scared  Chloe  would  be  if  he 
came  up  !  Puck  rather  thought  that  she  might  try  to 
jump  on  the  table  in  such  an  emergency,  and  laughed 
aloud  at  the  picture  of  fat  old  Chloe  in  such  a  predicament. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at,  me  dear  ?  "  said  Posy, 
hearing  the  chuckle, 

"  Sumpin'  vewy  funny,"  said  Puck,  mysteriously. 
"  Don't  say  nothin'  about  it,  Posy,  but  I'm  gom'  to  get 
that  wat  out  of  his  hole." 

"  How?  "  said  Posy,  dropping  her  biscuit  on  the  floor 
iu  her  eagerness. 

*'  You'll  see ! "  and  Posy,  forced  to  restrain  her  inipa- 


186  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

tience,  picked  up  her  dough,  in  no  way  discomposed  by 
the  specks  of  dirt  which  it  had  gathered  on  the  floor. 

Silvy,  the  children's  own  particular  attendant,  was  in 
the  washroom,  washing  some  of  Posy's  white  frocks  in 
the  peculiarly  leisurely  manner  of  a  Southern  negress, 
and  presently  Posy  came  out  to  visit  her,  having  put  her 
biscuit  in  a  patty-pan  on  the  hearth,  by  Chloe's.  Posy 
wanted  to  help  with  the  washing,  of  course,  and  by  way 
of  aiding  the  process,  she  climbed  up  on  the  bench  beside 
Silvy  with  the  indigo  bag  in  her  chubby  fingers,  and 
before  the  girl  understood  what  was  going  on,  a  stream  of 
blueing  descended  upon  the  contents  of  the  wash-tub,  by 
no  means  improving  the  white  frocks  therein. 

"  Law's  me !  what 's  dat  ?  "  cried  Silvy,  in  great  in- 
dignation, seizing  the  small  offender  in  her  arms  and  put- 
ting her  on  the  ground.  "  What  you  do  dat  for,  missy  ? 
Jest  look  at  dem  cloes  —  how  you  like  to  wear  dem,  eh  ? 
Must  be  up  to  sumfin'  de  whole  day,  for  true  !  " 

"  You  always  put  in  blue  stuff,  Silvy ;  I've  seen  you 
with  my  own  eyes,"  said  Posy,  defending  herself. 

At  this  moment  a  dire  outcry  arose  from  the  kitchen, 
and  both  Posy  and  Silvy  ran  up  the  steps  to  see  what 
was  the  matter.  Chloe  had  just  discovered  five  separate 
streams  of  water  meandering  over  her  kitchen  floor,  and 
was  at  present  shaking  Puck  with  all  her  might,  while 
the  culprit  responded  to  this  treatment  by  a  series  of 
roars,  kicks,  and  endeavors  to  bite  Chloe  in  any  vulner- 
able spot  that  was  within  reach.  Blot,  a  small  Skye 
terrier  (like  an  animated  door-mat  in  appearance,  but  of 
singular  sagacity,  and  devoted  to  his  little  master,  Puck), 
was  proving  that  devotion  by  running  at  Chloe's  legs, 
nipping  her  fat  ankles,  and  adding  his  barks  to  the  gen- 
eral hubbub  which  prevailed. 


SIX   YEARS   AFTEE.  —  PUCK   AND   POSY.  187 

"What's  all  this  noise  about?"  demanded  a  voice 
from  the  hall  door,  and  as  both  combatants  attempted  to 
answer  at  once,  Aunt  Debby  whisked  across  the  floor, 
gathering  her  skirts  about  her,  and  turned  off  the  faucet, 
which  Chloe  had  forgotten  to  do,  in  her  wrath  at  the 
perpetrator  of  this  outrage. 

"  I  never  did  see  such  a  child ! "  exclaimed  Aunt 
Debby,  in  her  energetic  New  England  way.  "  Chloe, 
let  him  alone.  Puck,  stop  kicking,  and  inform  me  what 
possessed  you  to  turn  on  that  water  and  get  the  kitchen 
in  such  a  mess  ?  " 

"  Seven  evil  spiwits,"  said  Puck  solemnly,  mindful  of 
the  Bible  reading  that  morning,  with  which  he  had  been 
much  impressed. 

"  You  naughty  child,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  severely, 
divided  between  her  amusement  and  vexation.  "  I  don't 
know  what  I  shall  do  with  you.  Just  see  what  a  wet 
place ;  take  a  mop,  Silvy,  and  help  Chloe  clean  up." 

"  He  only  wanted  to  get  the  rat  out  of  his  hole,"  said 
Posy,  taking  the  offender  by  the  hand,  and  preparing  for 
a  valiant  defense  of  her  brother. 

"  Yes,  it  was  just  to  see  the  wat  wun,"  said  Puck, 
eagerly.  "  O,  Aunt  Debby,  do  you  b'lieve  he'd  have 
dwowned,  weally  ?  " 

But  his  aunt  declined  to  enter  upon  that  branch  of  the 
subject. 

"  There  's  some  blue  sky,"  said  Posy,  suddenly,  and 
Puck's  drooping  spirits  revived  at  the  intelligence. 

"  May  we  go  to  the  fwog  pond?  You  said  you'd  see, 
and  it 's  clewing  up  butiful." 

"If  you'll  put  on  your  rubbers,  both  of  you,  and  be 
very  careful  of  Posy,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  looking  at  the 
dancing  pairs  of  eyes  in  front  of  her.  "  Perhaps  it 's  as 


188  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

good  a  place  as  any  to  play,  but  if  you  get  into  any  more 
mischief,  children,  I'll  put  you  both  in  bed." 

Puck  pranced  wildly  up-stairs  after  his  net,  and  Silvy 
put  on  Posy's  india-rubbers,  while  Blot  sat  upon  his  hind 
legs  with  a  peculiarly  droll  thumping  of  his  tail  on  the 
floor  at  the  same  time,  and  begged,  in  dog  language,  to 
accompany  his  master. 

Aunt  Debby  smiled  involuntarily  as  she  watched  the 
little  procession  going  down  the  path,  and  wondered  what 
scrape  they  would  fall  into  next  as  she  beat  up  some 
eggs  for  Chloe's  cake. 

The  frog  pond,  where  Puck  was  only  allowed  to  go  by 
special  permission,  was  a  pool  of  not  very  deep  water, 
standing  in  one  of  the  fields  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  house.  It  had  originally  been  used  for  the  cows  to 
drink  from,  but  the  spring,  from  some  unknown  cause, 
gave  out,  and  the  water  became  stagnant,  so  the  cattle 
were  driven  elsewhere,  and  the  pool  was  left  to  the  pos- 
session of  the  frogs.  The  children  thought  it  the  most 
delightful  retreat  on  the  place,  although  there  was  not  a 
tree  anywhere  near  it,  and  the  sun  came  blazing  out  very 
soon  after  their  arrival. 

"You  just  hold  Blot,"  said  Puck,  in  an  important 
voice,  to  Posy.  "  He'll  go  in  swimmin'  and  f wighten  the 
fwogs.  Softly,  now ;  I'll  put  in  my  net  here,  by  this  big 
stone,  an'  catch  that  fat  fellow,  I  weckon." 

Breathless  expectation  on  the  part  of  Posy ;  a  subdued 
grunt  from  Puck. 

"  He  's  went  away,  under  that  gween  moss." 

"  Gone  home  to  his  little  girl  frogs,"  said  Posy,  in  a 
shrill  whisper.  "  There  's  another  —  quick,  Puck !  " 

By  this  time  Puck  was  so  much  excited  that  he  leaned 
too  far  over  the  side,  and  with  a  splash  and  a  bounce  he 
rolled  over  into"  the  water. 


SIX  YEARS    AFTER.  —  PUCK   AND   POSY.  189 

"  I've  got  him  !  "  shouted  he,  triumphantly,  coming  up 
gasping,  with  a  frog  struggling  in  his  clinched  fist.  "  Stop 
hollering,  Posy;  'tain't  deep  water." 

"  You've  got  on  your  bran  new  stockings,  and  you 
know  Aunt  Debby  said  she'd  put  us  to  bed  if  we  did  any 
more  mischief,  me  dear,"  said  Posy,  dismally,  allowing 
Blot  to  escape  in  her  anxiety,  which  opportunity  he 
instantly  improved  by  dashing  into  the  pond  and  joining 
his  master. 

"Now  don't  cwy,"  said  Puck;  "I  don't  mind  goin'  to 
bed  if  you  come  too.  Take  the  fwog,  an'  put  him  in  the 
pail  —  I  can't  hold  him,  he  Aviggles  so." 

"Is  it  cold  in  there?"  demanded  Posy,  after  vainly 
stretching  across  the  space  between  her  and  the  drenched 
figure.  "  Cause  I  guess  I'll  come  in  and  bring  the  pail. 
I'll  have  to  go  to  bed  anyway"  despairingly,  "  and  I 
sha'n't  forsake  my  brother  if  he  gets  punished."  With 
which  Spartan  resolve,  little  Miss  Posy  pulled  her  white 
skirt  daintily  around  her  waist,  and  deliberately  waded  in 
to  Puck's  assistance. 

She  did  not  like  it  much  however ;  Blot  splashed  her, 
thinking  it  was  a  great  frolic,  and  the  stones  at  the 
bottom  were  slippery,  and  although  Posy  wasn't  afraid 
of  frogs,  she  did  have  a  dread  of  snakes.  But  she  was  a 
valiant  little  soul,  and  a  perfect  slave  to  Puck,  so  she 
laughed,  quaveringly,  and  made  believe  she  liked  it, 
until  an  eel  glided  out  of  the  weeds  near  her,  and  fright- 
ened her  pretty  much  out  of  her  wits. 

"  O  —  o  —  o  !  "  squealed  she.  "  We  shall  be  killed  — 
O,  you  naughty,  bad  boy  —  you  branged  me,  and  we'll 
be  eaten  up  just  like  the  bears  eated  up  the  children  that 
ran  after  the  bald-headed  Nehemiah." 

"It  wasn't  Nehemiah  —  it  was  Elijah,"  cried  Puck, 


190  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

scrambling  out  after  her,  nearly  as  much  alarmed  as  she 
was,  but  disdaining  to  own  the  fact.  "An'  you  said 
*  branged '  too,  an'  that  ain't  right." 

"  What  is  ?  "  demanded  Posy,  whose  correct  propriety 
of  speech  was  held  up  as  a  model  for  her  brother,  who,  of 
course,  was  delighted  when  he  caught  her  tripping. 

"Brunged,"  corrected  Puck,  whose  past  participles 
were  always  of  a  most  remarkable  description. 

"  'Tain't  any  such  thing,"  quoth  Posy,  bobbing  her 
head  indignantly.  "  I  know  what  it  is ;  it 's  bringed. 
And  Elijah  was  the  prophet  whom  the  ravens  fed,  and 
I'm  going  right  home  to  tell  Aunt  Debby  that  you  for- 
getted  your  last  Sunday's  lesson  —  so  now !  " 

"I'll  give  you  the  gween  fwog  all  to  your  own  self," 
called  Puck,  relenting  because  he  wished  to  put  off  the 
day  of  punishment  as  long  as  possible.  But  Posy  was 
wrathful  at  the  recollection  of  stumbling  in  her  speech,  so 
she  trotted  off,  bobbing  her  head  very  fast,  and  Puck, 
whistling  for  Blot,  took  up  his  pail  with  his  beloved  cap- 
tive frog,  and  followed  her  meditating  whether  he  would 
be  put  to  bed  without  his  dinner  or  not. 

In  this  guise  the  demoralized  party  appeared  before 
Aunt  Debby  and  grandma,  making  wet  tracks  across  the 
hall  and  besprinkling  the  matting  plentifully.  With 
many  sobs  Posy  told  the  story,  but  her  generous  heart 
smote  her  when  she  saw  Aunt  Debby's  eye  glance  from 
Puck  to  the  closet  where  she  kept  a  little  rod  which  was 
used  only  for  the  heaviest  sins. 

"  He  's  very  sorry,"  — cried  Posy.  "  Grandma,  please 
ask  Aunt  Debby  to  put  us  to  bed  and  not  to  whip  Puck. 
I  wetted  my  own  self —  I  did,  truly." 

Mrs.  Frost,  a  lovely  old  Quakeress,  with  the  most 
placid  of  faces  under  her  plain  muslin  cap,  laid  down  her 
knitting  at  this  appeal. 


SIX  YEARS  AFTER. —  PUCK  AND  POSY.      191 

"  What  does  thee  say,  Posy  ?  " 

"  Puck  never  once  thought  of  his  bran  new  stockings 
till  I  told  him,  grandma,  and  we'll  never  go  down  to  the 
frog  pond  again." 

"  Give  up  my  gween  fwogs  !  "  cried  Puck,  with  a  dis- 
mal howl.  "  I'd  wather  be  spanked  twice  over.  Come 
on,  Aunt  Debby ;  I  wont  holler  vewy  bad  this  time." 

Grandma  smiled  at  this  heroic  announcement.  "  Puck, 
come  here.  If  I  ask  Aunt  Debby  to  let  thee  off,  wilt  thou 
promise  to  be  good  to  morrow  ?  Thee  sees,  children  must 
conform,  and  Posy  and  thee  are  full  of  mischief." 

"  But  it 's  dwefful  hard  to  confowm,"  said  Puck,  sigh- 
ing deeply.  "  An'  we  mus'  go  out  to  play,  or  sumpin,' 
for  nobody  wants  us  'round  here,  seems  to  me.  Sylvy  's 
washin,'  an'  Chloe  's  mad  'cause  I  let  on  the  water  all 
over  the  floor  to  make  the  wat  wun  out,  and  Cato  's  gone 
out  in  the  wagon,  an'  Jim  's  diggin'  taters,  an'  Dowa 
wont  let  us  come  in  her  woom  "  —  another  sigh  ended 
this  pathetic  account  of  his  own  and  Posy's  woes. 

"  I  think  I  will  only  put  you  to  bed  this  time,"  said 
Aunt  Debby,  exchanging  a  glance  with  grandma,  "  but 
you  must  stay  there  until  tea-time,  and  I  shall  not  give 
you  any  pudding  for  your  dinners.  Lemon  pudding," 
added  she,  as  the  faces  before  her  lengthened  dolefully. 
"  And  the  next  time  you  get  into  such  a  mess,  or  let  Posy 
wet  herself  like  this,  Puck,  I'll  whip  you  with  the  new 
stick  which  Cato  got  for  me  yesterday." 

With  which  awful  threat  Aunt  Debby  took  the  chil- 
dren by  the  hand  and  whisked  them  out  of  the  room 
so  fast,  that  they  were  quite  breathless  and  panting  from 
their  exertions  to  keep  up  with  her  when  they  reached 
the  nursery. 

"  I  declare,  Aunt  Debby  makes  me  feel  tired  ;  she  hur- 


192  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ries  so,"  said  Dora  Lyndon,  putting  her  head  out  from 
the  window  curtain  where  she  had  been  hiding  during 
this  little  scene,  being  fearful  that  she  might  be  sent  up 
to  put  the  children  to  bed.  She  was  a  pretty,  lackadai- 
sical looking  girl  of  eighteen,  very  indolent  and  pleasure- 
loving,  a  temperament  which  exasperated  energetic  Aunt 
Debby  and  was  the  text  for  many  a  severe  lecture  to  Dora. 

"  Thee  doesn't  trouble  thyself  to  take  many  extra 
steps,  Dora,"  said  Grandma  Frost,  reprovingly.  Dora 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  but  she  seldom  answered  grandma 
impatiently,  so  she  settled  herself  to  the  paper-covered 
novel  again,  and  made  no  reply. 

Aunt  Debby  came  down  after  a  while,  with  a  gratified 
face. 

"  I've  settled  it,"  said  she :  "  that  is,  I've  thought  of 
a  plan  which,  if  you  approve  of,  grandma,  will  be  just  the 
thing  for  those  children.  They  bother  my  life  out.  The 
negro  servants  are  not  fit  companions  for  them,  and  I 
can't  have  them  under  my  feet  all  the  time.  It 's  just  as 
Puck  says,  poor  child  — '  nobody  'round  seems  to  want 
him,'  and  that 's  not  fair  to  the  children.  He 's  eight 
years  old  now,  going  on  nine,  and  Posy  's  five  ;  quite  old 
enough  to  be  learning  something.  So  I've  been  thinking 
that  if  we  could  get  a  nice,  reliable  young  girl  as  a  sort 
of  nursery  governess  it  would  be  an  excellent  plan.  What 
do  you  think?" 

"  A  governess  ?  "  said  grandma,  in  rather  a  bewildered 
tone. 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  more  slowly,  for  she  knew 
that  Mrs.  Frost  disliked  to  be  hurried,  and  always  wanted 
to  talk  a  matter  over  in  all  its  bearings  before  giving  her 
opinion. 

"  Dora  might  do  something,  but,  bless  you  !  she  won't 
raise  a  finger  even,  to  keep  them  out  of  mischief." 


SIX  YEARS  AFTER.  —  PUCK  AND  POSY.      193 

"Don't  abuse  me,  Aunt  Debby,"  said  Dora,  half 
laughing. 

"  O,  you're  there,  are  you  ?  Well,  I  said  nothing  be- 
hind your  back  that  I'd  be  ashamed  to  say  to  your  face. 
And  beside,  I  don't  think  you've  either  the  patience  or 
the  knowledge  to  teach  them  well." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Dora,  in  a  deeply  offended  tone. 

"  It 's  true  ;  it  takes  a  regular  training  to  know  how  to 
teach,  and  you  haven't  had  it.  And  the  children  are  just 
running  wild,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  in  quiet  exasperation. 
"  If  we  only  had  a  few  good  common  schools  —  such  as  we 
have  in  Massachusetts  —  I'd  pack  them  off  fast  enough,  but 
what  we  did  have  down  here  have  gone  to  wreck  and  ruin. 
The  best  one  in  these  parts  was  kept  by  that  Yankee 
down  at  the  Run,  and  the  war  drove  him  off  —  or  the 
secessionists,  I  dont  know  which." 

"  Good  riddance,"  said  Dora,  angrily.  "  We  don't 
want  any  old  abolitionists  down  here." 

"  Dora  Lyndon,  you  just  wait  till  your  opinion  is  asked 
for,  and  don't  be  giving  your  grandma  and  me  any  of  the 
ridiculous  fire-eating  notions  you've  got  in  your  silly  head 
since  you  came  back  from  that  visit  to  Richmond.  We 
believe  in  God  and  the  Union  in  this  house,"  said  Aunt 
Debby,  rearing  her  head  with  the  spirit  and  obstinacy  of 
her  Puritan  ancestors,  "  and  I  don't  wish  to  hear  any  Jeff 
Davis  principles  from  you." 

"  Dora,  I  am  surprised  at  thee !  "  said  grandma,  her 
mild  eye  flashing  as  she  tapped  the  table  with  her  knit- 
ting-needle. "  Does  thee  dare  to  talk  against  abolition 
when  thee  knows  that  I  and  all  the  Friends  abhor  slavery  ? 
Never  let  me  hear  thee  speak  thus  again,"  and  grandma 
looked  as  if  she  meant  to  be  obeyed. 

"  I  didn't  mean  anything  to  you,  ma'am,"  Dora  had 

13 


194  SIARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

the  grace  to  say,  as  she  vanished  again  behind  her  cur- 
tain. 

"  What  did  thee  think  about  the  children,  Debby  ?  " 
asked  grandma,  after  a  pause,  during  which  Aunt  Debby 
wisely  held  her  peace  and  waited. 

"  Of  course,  there 's  nobody  around  here  who  would 
answer ;  they're  all  too  fine  ladies  for  that,"  said  she, 
meaningly.  "  What  I  thought  of  was  this.  It 's  very 
probable  that  among  the  two  or  three  girls  whom  Cousin 
Louisa  Moulton  has  been  educating  for  teachers  in  her 
school  she  may  have  one,  or  know  of  one,  who  would  be 
willing  to  come  here.  We  are  on  the  Border,  and  per- 
haps she  could  send  us  some  one  who  would  answer  the 
purpose." 

Grandma  reflected  for  some  moments,  and  Aunt  Debby 
sat  in  silence,  sewing  up  a  long  seam  with  rapid  fingers. 

"  It  might  be  a  good  plan,"  said  grandma,  cautiously. 
"  But  what  would  thee  have  to  pay  a  young  girl,  Debby  ? 
Thee  knows  we  cannot  afford  much  "  — 

"  I  know,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  hastily.  "  But  I've  a 
small  sum  of  my  own  which  has  been  lying  for  some 
time  in  Cousin  Lemuel's  hands,  and  it  might  as  well  go 
for  this  as  anything  else.  I  can't  have  Reuben's  chil- 
dren running  wild  if  I  can  stop  it,"  and  a  tear  gathered 
on  Aunt  Debby's  eyelashes  which  she  instantly  winked 
away. 

"  It 's  very  good  of  thee,"  said  grandma,  with  a  grati- 
fied look  at  the  angular  figure.  "  Very  considerate,  Debby, 
and  the  Lord  will  reward  thee.  Certainly  I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  thy  plan ;  it  seems  a  very  sensible  one.  Thee 
had  better  write  thy  letter,  and  let  Cato  take  it  when  he 
goes  to  the  mill ;  give  my  love  to  Louisa,  and  ask  her  if 
she  hears  any  news  of  Cousin  Solomon's  family." 


SIX  YEARS  AFTER.  —  PUCK  AND  POSY.  195 

Thus  admonished,  Aunt  Debby  drew  out  an  old-fash- 
ioned writing  table,  and  with  great  pains  and  labor  in- 
dited a  letter  to  Mrs.  Moulton,  undeterred  by  Dora's 
frowns  and  muttered  expostulations.  That  young  lady 
evidently  did  not  look  with  favor  upon  the  plan,  and  was 
only  consoled  by  the  reflection  that  perhaps  nobody  would 
be  willing  to  come,  or  if  some  deluded  girl  did  accept  the 
situation,  she  would  at  least  have  the  benefit  of  hearing 
what  the  new  Philadelphia  fashions  were  from  her,  and 
perhaps  get  an  idea  for  making  over  her  black  silk  dress. 

When  Aunt  Debby  went  up  to  release  the  culprits  con- 
fined in  the  nursery  she  found  that  Posy  was  playing  her 
favorite  play  of  "long  baby"  (as  she  called  it),  arrayed 
in  one  of  Dora's  best  night  gowns,  and  that  Puck,  pranc- 
ing around  in  his  little  toga,  had  administered  molasses 
and  water  as  medicine  to  the  sick  baby,  and,  not  content 
with  spilling  part  of  the  dose  on  the  counterpane,  had 
made  a  large  spot  on  the  carpet.  In  addition  to  these 
small  mishaps,  in  climbing  on  a  broken  chair  he  had  run 
a  splinter  into  his  little  bare  foot,  and  Posy,  with  tears  in 
her  large  blue  eyes,  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  trying  to 
probe  the  wound  with  her  aunt's  best  button-hole  scis- 
sors. 

"  I  declare  to  mercy,"  ejaculated  that  much-enduring 
relative,  as  she  rescued  her  scissors,  and  sat  down  to 
attend  to  the  urchin's  foot,  "  you're  the  greatest  pair  of 
monkeys  I  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing.  But  I'll 
have  somebody  to  see  to  you  and  make  you  mind  before 
long ! "  and  wagging  her  head  with  a  mysterious  look 
which  drove  the  children  wild  with  curiosity,  she  kissed 
them  both  heartily,  and  sent  for  Silvy  to  dress  them  for 
tea. 


196  MAKJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

TABLEAUX. 

O  up  to  Miss  Daisy's  room,  Maggie,  and  ask  her 
when  she  has  finished  dressing  to  come  to  me. 
And  when  she  is  ready  to  go,  put  on  your  bonnet  and 
shawl  and  walk  over  to  Mr.  Olive's  with  her." 

Mrs.  Moulton  was  sitting  in  her  little  study,  a  place  of 
awe  and  mystery  to  her  unruly  scholars,  but  a  pleasant 
retreat  to  the  older  pupils  who  loved  their  governess 
dearly.  To  do  Mrs.  Moulton  justice,  there  were  few  of 
her  little  flock  to  whom  the  epithet  of  unruly  would  long 
be  applicable,  for  she  was  a  born  teacher,  and  her  gentle 
firmness  and  strong  good  sense  made  her  much  beloved 
by  every  one  who  came  under  her  magic  sway. 

The  servant  had  been  gone  but  a  few  moments  when  a 
little  tap  on  the  door  was  followed  by  a  voice  which  said,  — 

"  Did  you  want  me,  Mrs.  Moulton  ?  I  was  all  ready 
when  the  message  came,  but  I  stayed  long  enough  to  put 
my  picturesque  rags  in  a  basket." 

"  Picturesque  rags  ?  Come  in,  Daisy,  and  tell  me  what 
you  mean  ?  " 

A  slender  figure,  in  a  very  simple  white  dress,  with  a 
tiny  blue  bow  at  the  throat,  came  toward  her.  The 
same  child's  face,  with  its  innocent,  wistful  eyes,  clouded 
now  and  then  with  the  old,  pathetic  pain ;  the  same  soft 
yellow  hair  and  delicate  skin,  with  the  broad  brow  and 
determined  mouth;  it  was  Marjorie's  very  childish  self 
who  took  the  seat  which  Mrs.  Moulton  drew  toward  her, 
and  who  looked  quietly  up  into  that  lady's  face. 


TABLEAUX.  197 

"  I  meant  my  dress  for  the  tableau,"  said  Marjorie, 
smiling.  "  Phebe  left  a  bundle  of  what  I  call  picturesque 
rags  here  this  morning  with  a  message  that  I  must  see  if 
they  « fitted.' " 

"  I  remember  now ;  these  are  the  tableaux  for  the 
Sanitary  Commission,  are  they  not  ?  But  I  sent  for  you, 
dear,  to  talk  over  a  little  business ;  I  thought  you  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Clive  and  Vir- 
ginia about  it  to-night." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Marjorie,  wonderingly,  as  her 
teacher  paused. 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  from  a  cousin  of  mine,  who 
resides  in  Virginia  with  that  dear  old  Mrs.  Frost  of 
whom  you  have  often  heard  me  speak.  She  brought  me 
up  when  a  little  girl  (she  resided  in  Philadelphia  then), 
and  there  is  no  one  whom  I  love  more  fondly.  Her 
niece,  Miss  Deborah,  has  written  to  ask  me  whether  I 
can  send  her  a  young  girl  as  governess  for  Mrs.  Frost's 
little  grandchildren,  and,  Daisy,  in  many  ways  it  seems 
to  be  just  the  opening  that  you  need." 

"  I  am  so  glad !  "  Marjorie  clasped  her  hands  eagerly. 

"  They  are  only  little  children,"  said  Mrs.  Moulton, 
smiling  down  at  her,  "and,  Miss  Debby  writes,  very 
mischievous  and  bright.  I  did  not  mean  to  have  you 
go  quite  so  early,  but  it  strikes  me  that  this  would  be 
such  a  good  beginning.  You  told,  me  you  did  not  want 
too  large  children  to  commence  with,  and  I  think  you 
are  wise.  The  family  I  know  to  be  kind,  Christian  peo- 
ple, and  the  salary  that  Miss  Debby  offers  is  a  good  one. 
There  is  one  drawback,  however ;  do  you  object  to  going 
South  during  war  times  ?  Debby  writes  me  that,  so  far, 
they  have  been  unmolested,  and  the  plantation  is  out  of 
the  direct  line,  five  miles  from  Deep  water  Run,  which, 
itself,  is  a  place  of  no  importance." 


198  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Marjorie ;  "  but  I  must  ask 
Mr.  Clive  first.  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  be  earning  some- 
thing" 

Marjorie's  eyes  were  tearful  now,  and  Mrs.  Moulton 
patted  the  cheek  nearest  her  kindly. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  sure  we  shall  not  be  disap- 
pointed in  you.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  pleased  at  the 
idea  of  going  to  the  Frosts.  I  wanted  to  lay  it  before 
you  immediately,  as  Miss  Debby  tells  me  of  an  opportu- 
nity of  sending  you  there  with  a  neighbor  who  has  come 
to  Philadelphia  on  business.  Give  my  love  to  Virginia, 
and  ask  her  to  drive  down  in  the  morning  and  talk  this 
over  with  me.  Go  and  enjoy  yourself,  Daisy,  and  give 
me  a  full  account  of  the  tableaux  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Moulton  kissed  her  pupil  as  she  wrapped  a  shawl 
around  her,  and  calling  Maggie,  saw  them  safely  out  of 
the  door. 

Mr.  Olive's  house  was  brilliantly  lit,  and  as  Marjorie 
rang  the  bell,  Phebe  darted  out  of  the  library  to  meet  her. 

"  Glad  you'se  come,  Miss  Daisy ;  run  right  up-stairs  to 
Miss  Ginny's  room.  The  other  folks  is  dressing  in  de 
third  story." 

Marjorie  gave  Phebe  her  basket,  and  mounted  the 
stairs  with  light  feet. 

Pretty  Virginia  was  Mrs.  Randolph  now,  as  fair  and 
blooming  a  young  wife  as  one  can  imagine.  Phebe's 
shrewd  predictions  had  come  to  pass  at  last,  although  it 
was  sadly  annoying  to  the  faithful  nurse  to  find  that  the 
grand  wedding  which  she  had  hoped  to  rejoice  in  had  to 
be  given  up  for  a  far  different  affair.  For  the  breath  of 
war  had  touched  Virginia's  life,  as  it  did  so  many  other 
tender  maidens,  and  she  was  married  on  the  very  eve  of 
her  gallant  young  husband's  departure  for  the  front. 


TABLEAUX.  199 

Fred  Randolph  had  marched  away  with  the  New  York 
Seventh  when  that  regiment  first  departed,  and  the 
misery  that  Virginia  endured  during  the  six  weeks  of 
their  absence  made  her  resolve  that  she  could  not  have 
Fred  leave  her  thus  again.  But  he  came  home  with  the 
firm  intention  of  volunteering,  and  when  it  came  to  the 
point,  Virginia  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  bid  him 
stay.  So  they  were  married,  and  half  of  the  first  year 
of  her  married  life  Virginia  spent  in  camp  ;  the  other 
half,  between  hope  and  fear,  at  home.  But  she  kept 
her  bright,  brave  faith  through  all,  and  was  her  father's 
comforter  and  Marjorie's  most  loving  friend  during  the 
trying  times  that  followed.  At  last,  Fred  was  wounded 
in  one  of  the  great  battles  at  the  West,  and  sent  home, 
as  he  declared,  "just  battered  enough  to  be  nursed;"  and 
now,  with  her  husband  so  much  better,  Virginia  (active 
as  ever)  launched  vigorously  into  the  Sanitary  Commis- 
sion, and  got  up  a  private  entertainment  of  tableaux 
which  bid  fair  to  bring  plenty  of  money  into  the  hands 
of  that  honored  institution. 

"  Is  that  you,  Daisy  ?  "  called  out  Captain  Randolph, 
as  Marjorie  put  her  head  in  at  the  door.  "  Here  's  this 
wife  of  mine  grown  such  a  tyrant  that  I  had  some  doubts 
whether  she'd  let  me  come  down-stairs  to  witness  the 
grand  performance.  What  business  has  Queen  Mary  of 
Scotland  with  tying  up  the  arm  of  a  wounded  soldier  of 
the  nineteenth  century  ?  " 

"  You  should  try  to  imagine  that  you  are  George  of 
Douglass  and  mean  to  assist  the  poor  queen's  escape," 
said  Marjorie,  stooping  to  kiss  Virginia  as  she  knelt  on 
the  floor,  looking  \vonderfully  handsome  in  her  rich  cos- 
tume of  Queen  of  Scots.  "  I'm  so  glad  to  find  you  alone 
for  a  few  moments,  Mrs.  Randolph.  I  want  to  tell  you 
some  news." 


200  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Many  thanks,"  said  Captain  Randolph,  in  pretended 
wrath.  "  I  count  for  nobody,  do  I  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  his  nonsense,"  said  Virginia.  "  What 
is  it,  dear  ?  Any  new  scholars  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  little  mischief 
in  her  laugh.  "  But  they're  my  scholars,  this  time,  Mrs. 
Randolph.  I've  heard  of  a  situation." 

"  Daisy  !  I  thought  that  the  last  time  that  governess 
plan  of  yours  was  mentioned  we  agreed  that  it  was  not 
feasible  ?  " 

"  But  I  think  this  one  is,"  said  Marjorie,  in  her  voice 
of  gentle,  modest  determination. 

"  You'd  better  look  after  that  girl,"  said  Captain  Ran- 
dolph, nodding  his  head,  fiercely.  "I  always  told  you 
she'd  take  the  bit  in  her  teeth  some  day,  and  she  looks 
now  as  if  she  had  pretty  tight  hold  of  it." 

Virginia  and  Marjorie  both  laughed  at  this  sally,  and 
then  the  story  of  Mrs.  Moulton's  letter  was  told  as  suc- 
cinctly as  possible.  Mrs.  Randolph  shook  her  head  a 
little,  however,  when  she  heard  where  Marjorie  proposed 
to  go,  and  asked  her  husband's  opinion. 

But  Captain  Randolph  did  not  seem  to  think  the  local- 
ity particularly  dangerous,  as  indeed  it  had  not  at  that 
time  proved  to  be.  He  said  he  would  not  give  any 
advice  in  the  matter,  and  evidently  admired  Marjorie's 
spirit  in  wishing  to  try  to  support  herself. 

"  We  can't  decide  anything  until  I  have  told  papa, 
and  have  talked  over  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Moulton," 
said  Virginia.  "  Daisy  —  I  declare,  you're  not  dressed. 
What  a  child:  run  away  to  Phebe,  and  when  you  are 
ready  you  will  find  me  in  the  breakfast  room.  Fred,  if 
you  don't  behave  with  more  dignity,  my  ruff  will  be 
utterly  ruined,"  and  Queen  Mary  with  difficulty  extri- 
cated herself  from  his  enthusiastic  embrace. 


TABLEAUX.  201 

The  large  parlors  were  closely  packed  with  specta- 
tors, most  of  them  fashionables,  and  the  tableaux  which 
Virginia's  exquisite  taste  had  arranged  were  pronounced 
very  fine,  and  were  loudly  applauded.  Mar j  one  did  not 
make  her  appearance  until  the  last  but  one. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Saunderson,  putting  her 
eye-glass  to  her  eye  in  a  most  affected  manner. 

"  '  Motherless '  is  the  name  on  the  programme,"  said 
her  daughter,  Minnie  ;  "  Virginia  said  it  was  after  a  pic- 
ture of  some  celebrated  modern  painter  in  Rome.  She 
was  very  mysterious  about  it  —  I  don't  know  who  ap- 
pears in  it.  Let  me  take  the  glass,  Mr.  Rogers  ;  why ! 
it's  that  Daisy  Russell." 

The  tableau  was  a  very  simple  one.  Only  a  girl's 
face  —  a  girl  hardly  more  than  a  child  —  inside  a  curi- 
ously carved  old  picture  frame ;  the  bare  shoulder  which 
peeped  through  a  hole  in  the  old  calico  dress  was  white 
and  dimpled,  and  one  small  hand  strove  to  hold  the  tat- 
ters together. 

But  the  simple  pathos  of  the  wonderful  gray  eyes  — 
the  hungry,  wistful  droop  of  the  little  sad  mouth  —  ah  ! 
it  was  the  same  motherless  look  which  had  gone  to  Vir- 
ginia's heart  on  the  day  when  she  first  saw  her  which 
looked  out  of  Marjorie's  eyes  then.  There  was  a  pause 
of  mute  admiration ;  then,  the  bit  of  real  life  went  home 
to  everybody  's  heart,  and  the  audience  applauded  vigor- 
ously as  the  curtain  fell. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  who  that  is  ?  "  said  Mr.  Rogers,  pass- 
ing his  handkerchief  nervously  across  his  face. 

"  It's  a  poor  child  whom  Mr.  Clive  and  Mrs.  Randolph 
are  educating,"  said  Mrs.  Saunderson. 

"Then  she  isn't  —  any  relation  ?"  gasped  the  gentle- 
man, in  a  choked  voice.  Mrs.  Saunderson  stared. 


202  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Certainly  not.  I  said  she  was  a  poor  child  whom 
Mrs.  Randolph  had  picked  up  somewhere.  The  Olives 
are  among  our  very  best  families,  sir." 

Mr.  Rogers  murmured  something  about  "  not  meaning 
any  harm,"  and  dropped  helplessly  back  in  his  chair,  not 
venturing  to  say  another  word  for  full  five  minutes  ;  but 
the  lady  took  occasion  to  whisper  to  her  daughter,  "  The 
man  is  either  drunk  or  crazy.  I  wish  Harry  would  not 
send  letters  by  such  very  peculiar  brother  officers." 

"  You  know  they  meet  all  sorts  of  people  in  the  army," 
suggested  Minnie,  feeling  rather  sorry  for  the  man's  ap- 
parent awkwardness.  So  she  turned  about,  being  a  kind- 
hearted  girl  in  the  main,  and  gave  their  escort  a  short 
history  of  Virginia's  protege.  Mr.  Rogers  did  not  seem 
as  much  interested,  however,  as  his  previous  behavior 
would  have  led  her  to  suppose,  and  he  looked  actually 
relieved  when  he  saw  the  audience  rise  to  depart. 

"  That  was  a  nearish  shave,"  thought  Rogers  to  him- 
self, as  he  went  down  the  steps  with  the  ladies.  "  I  was 
awfully  frightened.  What  a  fool  I  am  not  to  remember 
that  thc~^  Clives  lived  here.  I  must  be  losing  my  mind. 
It 's  luck^  the  host  didn't  see  me — I'd  be  afraid  of  his 
sharp  eyes,  even  in  my  wig,  with  all  these  whiskers. 
Can  that  be  the  child  ?  The  breathing  image  of  her 
mother.  Am  I  never  to  be  free  from  being  haunted  by 
that  woman  ?  " 

Virginia,  who  had  been  in  the  last  tableau,  came  out  to 
look  for  Marjorie  and  her  father.  She  found  them  both  in 
earnest  conversation,  and  the  traces  of  tears  on  Marjorie's 
face  told  that  she  had  been  pleading  her  own  cause. 

"  Do  you  know  that  this  child  is  rabid  on  the  subject 
of  getting  her  own  living?  "  said  her  father,  drawing  her 
down  on  the  sofa  beside  him.  "What  am  I  to  say  to 
her?" 


TABLEAUX.  203 

"  I  think  we  must  let  her  try  it,  papa,"  said  Virginia, 
reading  his  face  with  her  usual  quickness.  "  The  gov- 
erness plan  is  one  that  is  very  near  Daisy's  heart,  and 
it  is  so  much  better  to  have  her  make  her  first  attempt 
among  people  whom  we  know  about." 

"  I  remember  old  Mrs.  Frost  very  well,"  said  Mr. 
Olive.  "  She  must  be  almost  ninety  years  of  age  now. 
Well,  Daisy,  if  Virginia  thinks  it  best  and  Mrs.  Moulton 
also,  I  suppose  I  must  be  overruled.  But  remember  this, 
child  —  if  you  don't  like  it,  or  if  you  get  into  any  trouble, 
my  house  is  always  open  for  you.  You're  a  good  child, 
and  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away." 

This  was  so  very  unusual  an  outburst  for  Mr.  Clive 
that  Marjorie's  only  answer  was  a  sob. 

"  I  don't  think  any  homeless  girl  ever  had  such 
kind  friends,"  she  whispered,  gratefully.  But  Mr.  Clive 
couldn't  abide  thanks,  so  he  told  her  not  to  be  foolish, 
and  that  the  carriage  should  take  her  back  to  Mrs.  Moul- 
ton's,  and  hurried  off  to  find  it. 

"  I'll  come  and  see  you  to-morrow,"  said  Virginia,  as 
they  kissed  each  other  good-night.  "  Mind  you  tell  Mrs. 
Moulton  what  a  success  my  tableaux  were.  Thank  you 
for  your  share,  Daisy ;  if  you  only  could  have  seen  your- 
self !  " 

But  Marjorie  did  not  give  much  thought  to  the  tab- 
leaux, which,  under  less  exciting  circumstances,  would 
have  absorbed  her  attention,  for  she  was  wholly  taken 
up  in  thinking  of  her  new  prospects  and  the  two  little 
pupils  who  were  waiting  for  her  down  in  Virginia. 

But  the  next  morning  wore  away  and  brought  no 
Virginia,.  Marjorie  began  to  be  quite  worried  by  dinner 
time,  and  was  meditating  the  propriety  of  running  down 
to  Mr.  Olive's  to  find  out  the  reason  of  this  delay,  when 


204  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Mrs.  Randolph's  carriage  drove  up.  And  the  moment 
she  entered  the  parlor  Marjorie  saw  that  something  un- 
usual had  occurred. 

"  I  could  not  get  away  before,"  said  Virginia,  greet- 
ing Mrs.  Moulton  affectionately.  "  Late  last  night,  just 
after  you  left,  Daisy,  we  had  a  telegram  from  Uncle 
Percy  to  say  that  poor  old  Grandpa  Olive  is  dead.  He 
died  in  a  fit,  very  suddenly,  and  papa  has  gone  on  for  the 
funeral.  I  have  been  packing  all  the  morning  —  that 
isn't  all,"  and  sudden  tears  rushed  into  the  brave  brown 
eyes ;  "  Fred  is  ordered  away,  and  I  am  afraid  I  can't 
keep  him  longer  than  next  week." 

"See  what  it  is  to  be  a  soldier's  wife  in  war  times," 
said  Mrs.  Moulton,  pressing  the  hand  that  lay  in  hers. 

"  Yes,"  Virginia  said,  checking  a  sigh.  "  But  I  came 
to  talk  about  Daisy's  plans.  Let  me  see  the  letter." 

Mrs.  Moulton  gave  it  to  her,  and  Virginia  entered  into 
the  subject  with  her  usual  warm,  winning  interest, 
putting  aside  her  own  wishes,  which  led  her  to  cling  to 
the  young  girl  whom  she  had  grown  to  love  so  dearly. 
Particularly  just  now,  with  Fred  going  away,  she  felt 
that  Marjorie's  affection  would  be  a  very  great  comfort ; 
but  when  she  saw  how  ardently  the  scheme  had  been 
wished  for  by  her  protege",  she  would  not  express  the 
wish  to  have  her  give  it  up,  which  would  have  had  such 
weight  with  Marjorie.  So,  while  her  two  kind  friends 
talked  over  every  detail,  Marjorie  sat  listening,  building 
golden  castles  in  the  air,  and  thinking  how  delightful  it 
would  be  to  earn  some  money  for  herself. 

As  Marjorie  had  grown  stronger  in  health  during  these 
six  years,  she  had  ceased  to  feel  the  terror  which  her  loss 
of  memory  had  formerly  caused  her.  Many  a  night  had 
she  lain  awake  trying  to  connect  the  few  broken  links 


TABLEAUX.  205 

which,  she  could  remember,  and  strongest  among  these 
was  the  remembrance  of  Judge  Gray,  or,  as  she  called 
him  to  herself,  "  The  man  who  taught  me  '  The  Night 
before  Christmas. ' ''  Singularly  enough,  while  she  could 
recollect  every  word  of  the  poem,  she  could  not  recall 
Judge  Gray's  name  or  the  name  of  the  city  w'icre  he 
lived.  But  his  face,  with  its  beautiful  hazel  eyes,  and 
kind,  merry  smile  was  often  before  her.  "  I  shall  meet 
him  some  day/'  she  would  say  to  herself,  "  and  then, 
perhaps  I  shall  remember  all  the  rest."  Barney,  also, 
was  one  of  the  people  of  her  dream-world ;  but  fancy 
transformed  him  into  her  attendant,  although  she  could 
not  reconcile  the  fact  that  when  he  was  with  her  she  did 
not  seem  to  remember  her  mother.  She  finally  settled 
upon  the  idea  that  he  must  have  been  a  steward  on  the 
ship  whose  tossing  she  recalled  so  distinctly.  But  the 
dream  and  the  hope  of  some  day  finding  her  father  was 
fondly  cherished  by  Marjorie,  although  it  seemed  as 
vague  as  ever.  One  link  had  come  back  which  made 
the  Olives  think  that  there  was  something  very  myste- 
rious about  her.  About  six  months  after  her  going  to 
Philadelphia,  Mr.  Percy  Olive  forwarded  from  New  York 
a  small  parcel,  which  he  said  had  been  left  with  one  of 
his  clerks  by  a  poor  woman  who  showed  one  of  their  busi- 
ness cards,  and  said  she  had  been  told  to  leave  word  there 
by  the  gentleman  who  gave  it  to  her.  She  left  no  mes- 
sage except  to  say  that  "  Nancy  "  left  the  parcel,  and  it 
belonged  to  "  little  Mary  "  — the  gentleman  would  know 
whom  she  meant.  On  opening  the  box  it  was  found  to 
contain  a  string  of  small  gold  beads,  from  which  two  or 
three  had  been  taken.  Marjorie  persisted  that  "  Barney  " 
gave  them  to  her  ;  the  poor  child's  memory  was  so  con- 
fused that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  separate  the  two 


206  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

changes  in  her  history,  and  she  confounded  the  beads 
with  the  bracelet  which  Barney  had  really  given  her. 
She  never  wore  the  necklace,  but  she  would  take  it  out 
sometimes,  and  gaze  at  it  with  dreamy  eyes,  hoping,  as 
the  months  rolled  by,  that  each  one  would  bring  the 
past  more  clearly  to  her. 

Virginia  and  Mrs.  Moulton  settled  their  plans  at  last ; 
and  Marjorie  was  delighted  to  find  that  she  would  proba- 
bly go  on  as  far  as  Washington  with  Captain  Randolph. 
There  was  a  good  deal  to  be  done,  and  many  stitches  to 
be  taken  in  Marjorie's  wardrobe,  and  Virginia  offered 
Phebe's  services,  and  begged  for  all  Marjorie's  spare 
time. 

But  the  last  stitch  was  taken,  the  little  trunk  packed 
with  loving  hands  by  Phebe,  who  wished  she  was  going 
"  down  Souf  with  Missy  Daisy  ;  "  and  with  many  kisses 
and  prayers  Marjorie  went  away,  like  the  children  in  the 
fairy  tales,  to  seek  her  fortune,  thereby  unconsciously 
taking  the  first  step  in  the  path  which  was  to  lead  her  to 
her  father. 


M! 


THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO  LIFT.  207 

CHAPTER  XVH. 
THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO  LIFT. 

m—  PERCY  CLIVE  sat  in  a  small  corner  room  of 
the  old-fashioned  house  at  Craignest,  with  a  large 
secretary  open  before  him.  He  was  a  pleasant-faced, 
gentlemanly  looking  man  with  a  fresh  complexion  and 
fair  hair,  which  made  him  look  fully  five  years  younger 
than  his  real  age,  and,  with  a  strong  family  likeness  to  his 
eldest  brother,  had  none  of  the  sternness  which  generally 
characterized  Selden  Olive's  face  when  in  repose.  Oppo- 
site him  in  a  careless,  easy  fashion,  sat  a  gentleman  in 
the  prime  of  life,  in  the  undress  uniform  of  a  general. 
But  his  handsome  face  had  many  lines  of  care  upon  it, 
and  there  was  a  look  of  sadness  in  the  deep-set  gray  eyes 
which  told  of  care  and  sorrow,  and  although  ten  years 
his  brother's  junior,  General  Olive's  hair  had,  here  and 
there,  a  silver  thread  in  its  luxuriant  brown  waves. 

"  It  is  a  great  pity  that  Selden  was  obliged  to  return 
directly  to  Philadelphia,"  said  Percy  Olive,  laying  down 
the  bundle  of  papers  which  he  had  been  carefully  looking 
over.  "  I  have  such  confidence  in  his  cool,  clear  head ; 
I  don't  think  you  ever  appreciated  him,  George." 

"  I  ought  to,"  said  General  Olive,  with  a  smile  that 
was  half  mournful.  "  He  was  always  held  up  to  me 
as  a  model  by  my  father,  and  I  was  exhorted  to  imitate 
him  in  everything." 

"  You  assimilate  about  as  well  as  oil  and  water,"  said  his 
brother.  "  I  can  assure  you,  however,  that  Selden  is  as 
deeply  disappointed  as  I  am  with  father's  will.  We 


208  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

hoped  so  much  from  his  kindly  reception  of  you  on  your 
return  from  China.  I  can't  understand  why  the  old  gen- 
tleman did  not  alter  his  will  at  that  time,  and  Selden 
is  convinced  that  there  is  a  codicil  somewhere.  If  not," 
Mr.  Clive  looked  embarrassed  and  averted  his  pleasant 
face,  —  "  if  not,  Selden  and  I  mean  to  make  it  up  to  you. 
You  shall  have  your  share  of  father's  estate." 

"  That 's  like  you,  Percy,"  said  General  Clive,  laying 
his  hand  affectionately  on  his  brother's  shoulder ;  "  and 
very  generous  of  Selden,  but  I  cannot  let  you  carry  out 
your  kind  intentions.  I  have  enough  of  my  own  hard- 
earned  dollars,  and  should  only  be  glad  of  some  token 
that  my  father  had  really  forgiven  me.  But  he  was 
implacable  to  the  very  last  it  seems  ;  what  an  iron  will 
he  had." 

"  But  he  loved  you  best  of  us  all,"  said  Mr.  Clive,  "  and 
that  is  why  I  cannot  but  believe  —  stop  !  This  looks 
marvelously  like  it,  by  Jove  !  " 

General  Clive  sprang  out  of  his  chair  with  an  excited 
face  as  his  brother  unfolded  the  legal  looking  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"  I  give  and  bequeath,"  so  ran  the  codicil,  after  the 
usual  formula,  "  to  Marjorie,  the  eldest  child  of  my  son 
George  Clive,  and  Madeline  Herve  his  wife,  one  third  of 
my  personal  property,  to  wit "  (then  followed  a  long  list 
of  stocks  and  money  amounting  to  several  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars)  ;  "  the  same  because  of  my  great  injustice 
to  the  said  Madeline  nerve*  Clive  on  the  night  of  Decem- 
ber 3rd,  18 —  ;  and  I  hereby  charge  my  sons  and  execu- 
tors to  institute  search  for  her  whether  alive  or  dead,  my 
own  efforts  having  proved  unavailing.  And  I  hereby 
make  the  above  bequest  as  token  of  forgiveness  to  my 
son,  George  Clive,  whom  by  a  previous  will  I  have  dis- 
inherited." 


THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO   LIFT.  209 

"  Great  Heavens  !  "  cried  Mr.  Percy  Clive,  startled 
out  of  his  calm  demeanor  by  a  heavy  fall.  "  The  fel- 
low 's  fainted !  " 

He  flew  to  the  bell  and  pulled  it  violently,  and  began 
to  undo  his  brother's  cravat  with  agitated  hands.  "  Run 
for  some  brandy,"  cried  he,  as  an  aged  servant  opened 
the  door,  with  a  scared  countenance.  "  General  Clive 
has  been  taken  ill,  Robert  —  some  water,  quick  !  " 

But  joy  rarely  kills,  and  before  long  General  Clive  sat 
upright  and  waved  away  the  brandy  in  extreme  agita- 
tion. 

"  Why  did  I  not  know  this  sooner  ?  "  asked  he.  "  My 
darling  Madeline  !  "  and  he  hid  his  face,  and  sobbed 
aloud  as  the  image  of  his  young  wife  came  up  before  him. 
Old  Robert  twitched  the  sleeve  of  Mr.  Percy  Clive's  coat 
as  he  stood  behind  him. 

"Did  ye  find  the  paper  you  were  looking  for,  sir  ?  " 
asked  the  Scotchman,  cautiously,  in  a  whisper.  "  Be- 
cause I'm  thinking  it  had  something  to  do  with  the 
lady." 

Low  as  the  words  were  spoken  General  Clive  caught 
them. 

"  What 's  that,  Robert  ?  "  said  he,  eagerly,  raising  his 
head.  Robert  had  lived  with  old  Mr.  Clive  in  various 
capacities  for  thirty  years,  and  it  was  highly  probable 
that  he  might  be  able  to  throw  some  light  on  the  mat- 
ter. 

"  I  was  only  asking  Mr.  Percy  if  he  found  the  bit 
paper,  sir.  Mr.  Selden  asked  me  last  night  before  he 
left,  if  I  could  tell  where  the  auld  master  kept  his  most 
valuable  papers,  and  I  made  answer  that  it  was  in  the 
secretary,  mair  because  I'd  seen  him  putting  papers  there 
the  day  before  he  was  taken,  sir.  And  six  months  agone, 
14 


210  MARJORIE'S   QUEST. 

James,  and  Mrs.  Mackensie,  and  me  pit  our  names  until 
a  sort  of  will,  — 'at  least,  the  auld  gentleman  said  so, 
when  we  signed." 

"  And  pray,  why  didn't  you  say  as  much  when  the 
will  was  read  after  the  funeral  ?  "  asked  General  Clive, 
angrily. 

"  How  did  I  know,  sir  ? "  said  Robert,  respectfully. 
"  I  thought  the  whole  wad  be  there,  and  it  was  only 
when  Mr.  Selden  put  some  questions  to  me  that  I  began 
to  think  the  last  one  was  missing." 

"  What  was  that  you  said  about  the  lady  ?  "  continued 
General  Clive. 

"  I'd  not  want  to  be  interfering,"  said  Robert  to  Mr. 
Percy  Clive,  as  the  more  reasonable  of  the  two.  "  But 
I  mind  the  night  she  came  here  verra  weel,  and  of  late 
my  master  set  me  to  make  inquiries  around  about." 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  story,"  said  Mr.  Clive,  glancing 
towards  his  brother,  and  receiving  an  impatient  affirma- 
tive gesture. 

"  It  was  a  verra  cold  night  in  December,"  said  Robert, 
feeling  very  important  in  having  such  interested  listen- 
ers ;  "or,  rather  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  just  after 
the  master's  dinner,  and  snowing  hard.  I  was  coming 
through  the  hall  with  the  candles,  when  the  bell  rang 
suddenly  ;  I  put  the  lights  on  the  bracket,  and  went  to 
open  the  door.  On  the  step  was  a  lady  holding  a  little 
girl  in  her  arms,  and  she  looked  very  pale  and  faint  like, 
and  asked  in  a  low  voice, '  Is  Mr.  Clive  at  home  ? '  She 
spoke  like  a  foreigner,  sir,  with  a  sort  of  hesitating  man- 
ner as  if  she  was  uncertain  of  her  words." 

"  I  bid  the  lady  walk  in,  and  was  throwing  open  the 
parlor  door,  when  she  stopped  me. 

"  '  Is  Mr.  Clive  there  ?  '  she  said,  timidly. 


THE   CLOUD  BEGINS   TO   LIFT.  211 

"  '  No,  ma'am,'  said  I,  quite  surprised.  '  I  was  going 
to  call  him  if  you  will  walk  in  and  give  me  your  name.' 

"  She  rubbed  her  hands  across  each  other  with  a  sort 
of  nervous  fright,  and  said,  'If  you  please  —  would  you 
be  so  vera  good  as  to  take  me  right  away  to  his  room.' 

"  '  But  I  can't,  ma'am,'  said  I ;  '  it  would  vex  my  mas- 
ter very  much.' 

" '  Let  me  come  with  you,  then,'  said  she,  pleadingly. 
' 1  am  very  ill ;  I  got  off  a  sick  bed  to  come  here,  and  if 
he  knows  who  I  am  I  fear  he  will  not  see  me.' 

"  So  I  told  her  to  come  along  behind  me  as  I  went  in 
with  the  lights,  and  asked  what  name  would  I  say." 

Robert  paused,  and  glanced  with  some  pity  toward 
General  Clive.  "  Go  on  !  "  said  he,  with  a  groan. 

"  It  was  your  wife,  Mr.  George,"  said  the  old  servant. 
"  She  gave  me  her  name,  Mrs.  George  Clive,  and  for  a 
moment  I  was  afraid  to  go,  for  my  master  had  forbidden 
me  to  speak  of  you  from  the  day  he  heard  of  your  mar- 
riage. But  she  looked  so  pretty  and  sweet,  and  her 
hands  trembled  so,  and  the  little  girl  kept  saying,  'Are 
you  cold,  mamma  ?  are  you  cold  ? '  in  such  a  winning 
way  that  I  thought  maybe  my  master's  heart  would  melt 
at  the  sight  of  his  ain  kin ;  so  I  just  marched  on,  and 
threw  open  this  vera  door,  sir,  and  put  on  as  bold  a  face 
as  I  dared  as  I  set  the  candles  down.  Mr.  Clive  looked 
up  at  me  and  the  two  who  followed  me,  as  I  said,  — 

"  '  If  you  please,  sir,  Mrs.  George  Clive.' 

"  The  auld  gentleman  dropped  back  in  his  chair  as  if 
he  had  gotten  his  death-blow  at  the  name.  Then  his  face 
got  fairly  purple  (I  was  afraid  he'd  burst  a  blood-vessel, 
Mr.  Percy)  ;  and  he  said  in  an  awful,  choked  voice,  '  I 
know  nobody  of  that  name.  Take  this  impostor  away, 
Robert.' 


212  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  But  the  lady  never  flinched.  She  only  loosened  her 
hold  of  the  child's  hand,  and  at  a  nod  of  her  head,  the 
little  girl  ran  forward  and  tried  to  take  Mr.  Olive's  hand. 

"'  Won't  you  give  Marjorie  a  kiss?'  said  she,  lifting 
up  her  pretty  little  face. 

"  That  was  your  mother's  name,  Mr.  George,  and  I 
think  it  made  your  father  pause,  for  although  he  gave 
the  little  girl  a  push  which  almost  made  her  fall,  he  says 
to  me,  '  Go  out  of  the  room,  Robert,  and  shut  the  door.' 

"So  I  set  down  my  other  candle,  and  out  I  walked, 
but  I  went  no  further  than  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and 
from  there  I  could  hear  the  sound  of  voices ;  Mr.  Olive's, 
harsh  and  awful,  and  the  sweet  foreign  voice,  sometimes 
clear,  sometimes  sobbing.  In  less  than  half  an  hour 
my  master's  bell  rang  furiously,  and  when  I  opened  the 
door  to  answer  it  he  looked  years  older,  it  seemed  to  me. 

"  '  Take  these  people  out,'  said  he,  in  a  voice  like 
thunder,  '  and  never  let  them  inside  my  door  again.' 

"  '  I  shall  never  come,'  cried  the  lady,  passionately, 
"  '  where  my  husband  has  been  treated  so  cruelly.  We 
will  go,  my  child,'  and  she  swept  into  the  hall,  Mr. 
George,  with  her  big,  beautiful  eyes  flashing,  as  grand  a 
lady  as  I  ever  saw. 

"  But  when  she  got  outside,  sir,  and  the  door  was  closed, 
her  strength  all  left  her,  and  she  all  but  fell  in  a  chair. 

"  She  was  so  wan  and  pale  that  I  was  sair  frightened, 
and  I  ran  for  a  sup  of  wine,  and  made  her  taste  it.  But 
as  soon  as  she  revived  a  bit,  not  a  drop  more  would  she 
swallow. 

"  '  It  would  choke  me,'  she  said,  pushing  it  away  with 
the  saddest  smile  I  ever  saw.  I  did  all  I  could,  Mr. 
George  ;  I  begged  her  to  come  out  intil  the  housekeeper's 
room  and  bide  awhile  till  the  storm  spent  itself,  for  it 


"SHE   S\VKI'T    INTO   THK    IIAIJ-. 


THE   CLOUD    BEGINS   TO   LIFT.  213 

was  a  cruel  night  for  a  young,  delicate  woman  to  be  out, 
let  alone  the  child ;  but  she  would  not  hear  to  it.  So, 
after  she'd  rested  a  bit  she  got  up  and  went  to  the  door. 
Such  a  blast  of  wind  and  snow  come  in  that  I  made  her 
promise  to  bide  a  wee,  till  I  could  run  up  intil  Mrs. 
Mackensie's  room  and  ask  her  for  the  gift  of  a  shawl 
to  wrap  around  the  child,  who  was  but  thinly  clad.  As 
it  was  for  her  baby,  she  said  she  would  wait,  and  I  ran 
up  and  told  Mrs.  Mackensie  that  Mr.  George's  young 
wife  was  below,  and  going  to  be  turned  out  in  the  storm. 

" '  I've  nothing  to  give  her,'  said  Mrs.  Mackensie, 
'  saving  a  broche"  shawl  of  Mrs.  Olive's  which  she  gave 
me  years  ago.  The  border  of  it 's  good,  and  the  shawl 's 
warm,  but  it 's  so  dirty  in  the  centre  that  I  put  it  away 
to  give  till  the  first  poor  woman  came  along,  and  what 
better  use  could  it  be  put  to  than  wrapping  up  Mr. 
George's  child  ? ' 

"  Mrs.  Mackensie  gave  me  the  shawl,  and  I  ran  down 
with  it,  and  gave  it  to  the  lady,  telling  her  'twas  one  of 
old  Mrs.  Olive's.  But  she  did  not  pay  much  attention, 
only  asked  which  was  the  nearest  road  to  Saybrooke.  I 
showed  her,  and  went  as  far  as  the  gate-house  with  her, 
but  I'm  afraid  she  lost  the  way,  sir,  for  I  have  never 
been  able  to  get  any  trace  of  her  in  Saybrooke  since." 

"  And  is  this  all  you  can  tell  me?"  said  General  Olive. 

"  That  is  all,  sir,  I  wish  it  was  more.  But  indeed," 
added  the  old  servant,  sorrowfully,  "  My  master  was  sair 
troubled  about  it  in  his  mind,  I'm  thinking,  and  many  's 
the  night  I've  heard  him  groan,  sitting  there  in  his 
chair,  with  the  newspaper  upside  down  before  his  face, 
and  I  make  no  doubt  the  thought  of  turning  his  ain  kin 
out  of  doors  in  the  storm  weighed  him  down  at  the  last." 

"  That  will  do,  Robert,"  said  Mr.  Percy  Olive,  hastily, 


214  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

feeling  as  if  his  brother  could  bear  no  more  ;  "  please  ask 
Mrs.  Mackensie  to  have  lunch  ready  half  an  hour  earlier 
than  usual." 

But  General  Clive  put  out  his  hand  as  the  old  man 
passed  him.  "  Thank  you,  my  good  Robert,  for  your 
kindness  to  my  wife  and  child  ;  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  Tut,  sir,  I  only  did  my  duty  —  I  wish  it  had  been 
more,"  said  Robert,  greatly  touched  by  the  agitated  voice 
and  kindly  smile  of  him  whom  he  still  styled  "  the  young 
master." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  said  Percy  Clive 
after  a  while,  watching  his  brother  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  plunged  in  deep  thought. 

"  Do  ?  "  fairly  shouted  the  impetuous  General.  "  Do  ? 
Scour  the  country  for  a  trace  of  my  child." 

"  It  was  a  sad  pity  that  the  death  of  your  partner 
obliged  you  to  wait  so  long  before  coming  home,  George. 
I'm  afraid  you  came  four  years  too  late." 

"  It  would  have  made  no  difference,"  said  General 
Clive,  sadly.  "Even  now  I  find  it  hard  to  forgive. 
What  had  Madeline  done  that  she  should  suffer  for  my 
sake  ?  I  must  have  been  lying  ill  at  your  house,  at  that 
very  time.  If  I  could  only  find  that  scoundrel,  Rodman, 
I  might  lay  my  hand  on  the  very  key-note  of  this  mys- 
tery. He  must  know  something ;  he  was  the  only  person 
who  could.  It 's  a  sad  pity  that  you  turned  him  adrift 
just  after  my  arrival,  for  I  could  otherwise  have  laid  my 
hand  on  him  when  I  recovered.  I  must  put  all  the  forces 
that  I  can  muster  at  work  to  find  him  if  he  be  still  alive," 
and  General  Clive  turned  pale  at  the  bare  possibility  of 
the  death  of  a  man  upon  whom  he  believed  so  much  de- 
pended. 

"  Don't  be  too  sanguine,"  said  his  brother. 


THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO   LIFT.  215 

"  I  shall  try  not  to  be ;  but  O,  Percy,  can  you  realize 
what  a  hungry  longing  I  have  carried  all  these  years  for 
my  wife  and  child  ?  Can  you  wonder  that  the  hope, 
faint  as  it  is,  of  once  more  seeing  my  little  Marjorie 
should  fill  my  heart  with  joy  ?  " 

"  And  you  have  my  heartiest,  warmest  wishes  for  your 
success,  my  dear  fellow,"  cried  Percy  Clive,  his  warm 
heart  getting  the  better  of  his  worldly  wisdom.  "  And 
in  any,  or  every  way  you  may  command  my  services  in 
your  search." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  his  brother,  with  equal  heartiness. 
"  And  I  may  have  to  call  upon  you  almost  immediately, 
for  my  leave  expires  on  Saturday,  and  in  the  present 
state  of  affairs,  I  cannot  ask  for  an  extension.  We  may 
assume  the  aggressive  at  any  moment,  and  I  must  be 
with  my  command.  But,  if  I  leave  here  to-night,  I  shall 
have  two  days  at  my  disposal,  and  I  shall  take  up  the 
faint  clew  that  Robert  gives  me,  and  see  if  I  can  find  any 
trace  of  my  wife  and  child  hereabouts.  Wynn  is  the 
nearest  place  ;  we  will  begin  there." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you.  With  our  own  unassisted 
efforts  we  cannot  hope  to  accomplish  much  "  — 

"  What  do  you  advise  ?  "  burst  in  General  Clive. 

"  I  should  go  to  Saybrooke.  It 's  a  sleepy  town,  but 
the  largest  of  them  all,  and  they  have  some  pretensions 
to  a  police  force  there." 

"  To  Saybrooke,  then,"  cried  his  brother,  impetuously. 
"  Order  James  and  the  horses  to  drive  us  over,  while  I 
go  and  pack  my  valise.  How  far  is  it  ?  Twenty  miles  ? 
We  can  get  there  by  seven  o'clock  with  respectably 
fast  driving ;  the  stage  route  would  drive  me  frantic 
just  now." 

Mr.  Clive  shook  his  head  a  little  as  he  sat  down  before 
the  secretary,  after  his  brother  left  the  room. 


216  ,i     HARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

The  codicil  lay  open  before  him,  and  he  read  it  over 
again,  carefully.  It  was  written  in  the  crabbed,  peculiar 
hand  of  his  father,  the  signature  firm  as  ever,  although 
the  old  man  had  passed  his  eightieth  year.  He  must 
have  been  convinced  of  the  existence  of  the  child  or  he 
would  hardly  have  willed  the  property  to  her  absolutely, 
without  reserve.  Could  there  be  a  memorandum  of  any 
sort  in  the  package  where  the  codicil  was  found  ?  The 
thought  struck  Mr.  Clive  suddenly,  and  he  immediately 
began  to  ransack  the  pigeon-hole  where  the  other  papers 
had  been.  His  father  had  a  peculiar  way  of  jotting 
down  stray  ideas  as  they  came  into  his  mind,  and  it  had 
increased  upon  him  as  he  began  to  grow  forgetful ;  often, 
during  Percy  Olive's  visits  to  him,  the  old  gentleman 
would  point  to  a  corner  of  his  dressing-table  where  lay 
square  and  three-cornered  bits  of  paper  with  all  manner 
of  memoranda  on  them.  They  had  found  several  heaps 
of  these  queer-shaped  papers  stowed  away  in  various 
receptacles  since  his  death,  and  it  struck  Mr.  Clive  that 
some  information  might  be  gathered  from  them. 

But  the  pigeon-holes  did  not  contain  any,  and  Mr. 
Clive  opened  the  topmost  of  the  row  of  drawers,  deter- 
mined to  overlook  the  whole  before  mentioning  his  idea 
to  his  brother. 

The  first  drawer  was  full  of  leases,  the  next  held  law- 
papers,  but  the  third  looked  more  promising.  It  was 
evidently  used  for  odds  and  ends ;  first  came  an  old  snuff- 
box, then  a  pocket  diary,  but  that  merely  contained 
jottings  of  daily  household  expenditures.  Then  there 
was  a  little  bundle  of  very  stale  winter-green  lozenges, 
a  pair  of  rusty  looking  spectacles,  and  underneath  the 
whole,  four  or  five  of  the  scraps  of  paper  which  Mr. 
Clive  was  looking  for. 


THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO  LIFT.  217 

No.  1  was,  — "  Mem.  To  have  timothy  sowed  in 
the  five-acre  pasture." 

No.  2.  "  Mem.  Sold  the  brown  colt ;  Percy  must 
see  to  the  payment." 

No.  3.  "  Mem.  Paid  Mrs.  Mackensie  ten  dollars  over 
her  quarter's  wages." 

No.  4.  "  Mem.  Send  Robert  to  Saybrooke  to  in- 
quire what  foundling  child  was  at  the  '  Saybrooke  Arms/ 
the  winter  of  18—." 

"  Jove  !  "  and  Mr.  Clive  brought  his  hand  down  with 
a  bang  that  set  the  secretary  shaking  as  if  it  had  a 
sudden  ague.  "  That  was  a  brilliant  thought  of  mine. 
Are  there  any  more  ?  " 

But  his  further  search  was  of  no  avail,  neither  was  his 
exploration  of  all  the  drawers  in  his  father's  room  up- 
stairs. Memoranda  there  were,  in  plenty,  but  none  of  it 
had  the  slightest  bearing  upon  the  case.  Then  he  went 
in  search  of  Robert,  and  found  him  in  his  brother's  room, 
talking  garrulously,  and  relating  everything  that  he  could 
think  of  about  his  old  master's  oddities. 

"  Did  my  father  ever  send  you  to  Saybrooke  to  make 
inquiries  about  Mrs.  Clive,  Robert  ?"  asked  Mr.  Percy 
Clive. 

"  Never,  sir.  All  the  inquiries  I  ever  made  were  at 
Claybourne  and  Wynn.  I  never  thought  that  the  lady 
could  have  gone  as  far  as  that." 

"  I  have  found  a  memorandum,"  said  Mr.  Clive,  put- 
ting the  scrap  in  his  brother's  hand.  "  My  father  meant 
to  send  you  there.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  poor  child 
who  was  at  the  tavern  there  ?  —  what 's  the  name  ?  O 
—  the  Saybrooke  Arms." 

"  The  Saybrooke  Arms  ?  That  must  be  the  story  I 
heard  from  Sandy  Ferguson,"  said  Robert,  with  a  face  of 


218  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

astonishment.  "  And  I  never  suspicioned  that  the  auld 
master  paid  any  attention  to  that.  He  had  a  long  head, 
ye  ken  ;  he  pit  two  and  two  together  and  made  four  out 
of  them." 

"  How  ?  "  said  General  Clive,  seating  himself  on  his 
valise,  and  resigning  himself  to  letting  the  old  servant 
take  his  own  way  of  telling  a  story. 

"  Sandy  lived  at  the  tavern  in  Wynn  for  a  good  many 
years  lang  syne,  but  the  man  who  keepit  it  fell  intil 
drunken  ways,  and  then  Sandy  cast  about  for  a  living. 
He  's  an  auld  gossip  of  mine  (we  came  from  the  same 
place,  at  home,  in  Scotland,  though  Sandy  was  a  bit 
bairn  when  I  came  till  America),  and  he  comes  over 
here,  whiles,  to  see  me.  He  's  taken  up  a  carpenter's 
trade  this  five  years  gone,  and  I  used  to  have  him  over 
to  mend  the  fences  and  do  such  like  repairs.  And  one 
day,  a  couple  of  months  since,  he  was  mending  a  chair 
for  Mrs.  Mackensie,  and  the  auld  master  came  along  and 
stood  a  while,  talking  to  her.  I  mind,  now,  Sandy  was 
telling  me  about  a  man  named  Barney  Brian  who  used  to 
live  in  these  parts,  and  he  said  he'd  been  very  fortunate, 
and  gotten  friends  in  the  city,  because  of  a  poor  fcmndling 
child  that  he  befriended,  and  I  remember  I  asked  him 
what  child  it  was,  and  he  made  answer  that  it  was  na 
ony  one  in  these  parts ;  some  one  who  had  been  at  the 
Saybrooke  Arms  six  or  seven  years  agone.  To  think 
that  auld  Mr.  Clive  heard  that !  " 

"  And  where  is  your  friend  Sandy  ?  "  asked  General 
Clive. 

"  Dead,"  said  Robert,  shaking  his  head,  mournfully. 
"  It  was  na  a  week  after  that  he  was  called.  Congestion 
of  the  lungs,  sir,  and  ye  ken  that  takes  a  man  awa' 
awful  sudden." 


THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO    LIFT.  219 

"  The  end  of  that  clew,"  said  General  Clive,  in  a  de- 
spairing voice. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Percy  Clive.  "  What  is  to 
prevent  our  going  direct  to  the  Saybrooke  Arms  and 
making  inquiries.  It  is  remarkably  fortunate  that  we 
have  a  date  to  go  by ;  if  you  notice,  the  date  on  this 
memorandum  and  the  date  of  your  wife's  appearance 
here  are  five  years  apart." 

"  That  would  be  it,  sir,"  said  Robert.  "  Sandy  said  it 
was  six  or  seven  years  syne.  How  auld  was  the  little 
girl,  Mr.  George  ?  " 

"Marjorie?  She  was  between  five  and  six  when  I 
left  England.  Five  —  ten  —  she  will  be  seventeen  now 
—  my  darling  !  "  and  the  father's  voice  trembled  with  a 
sigh.  "  I  had  forgotten  that  these  years  have  made  her 
almost  a  woman." 

"  Come,  George,"  said  his  brother,  rousing  him  from 
the  reverie  into  which  his  words  had  plunged  him; 
"  lunch  is  ready,  and  directly  after  it  we  will  start  for 
Saybrooke.  Robert,  I  gave  all  the  necessary  directions 
to  you  and  Mrs.  Mackensie  this  morning.  I  shall  be 
back  to  attend  to  the  closing  of  the  house  for  the  present, 
in  a  fortnight's  time." 

General  Clive's  hopes  began  to  revive  during  the 
journey  to  Saybrooke.  He  felt  that  his  brother's  kindly 
interest  inspired  him  to  fresh  exertions  even  if  this  clew 
should  fail,  and  they  talked  the  whole  matter  over  from  all 
sides,  resolving  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  discover 
the  missing  child. 

Saybrooke  had  grown  into  quite  a  flourishing  town, 
and  was  beginning  to  talk  of  having  a  mayor,  and  mak- 
ing itself  a  city  in  time.  There  were  three  "  hotels,"  as 
the  proprietors  ambitiously  styled  them,  upon  a  much 


220  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

larger  scale  than  the  old  tavern  which  was  still  called 
the  Saybrooke  Arms.  John  Merrill's  name  was  on  the 
sign-post  which  swung  invitingly  before  the  door,  and 
John  himself,  grown  somewhat  stout  and  red  in  the  face, 
came  out  to  welcome  the  gentlemen  as  they  alighted. 

"  Why,  it 's  Mr.  Clive  of  New  York,"  said  John,  who 
had  sometimes  seen  that  gentleman  on  his  way  through 
Saybrooke.  "  Shall  I  have  the  horses  put  up,  or  'are  you 
going  right  on?" 

"  Not  to-night,  Mr.  Merrill,"  said  Percy  Clive.  "  Have 
you  any  rooms  to  spare?  My  brother  and  I  think  of 
remaining  over  night  with  you." 

"  That  I  have,"  said  John,  greatly  pleased  that  his 
guests  had  passed  by  the  new  hotels  to  take  quarters 
in  his  more  humble  abode.  "  The  best  in  the  house  you 
shall  have.  Supper,  sir,  and  a  bit  of  something  hearty  ?  " 

"  We  won't  object  to  as  good  a  supper  as  you  can  give 
us,"  said  Mr.  Clive,  smiling.  "  I  remember  Mrs.  Mer- 
rill's neat  table  of  old.  This  is  my  brother,  General 
Clive,"  seeing  the  wish  for  an  introduction  in  John's 
eyes,  as  they  walked  into  the  sitting-room. 

General  Clive  shook  hands  with  the  landlord,  who  im- 
mediately improved  the  opportunity  to  ask  questions 
about  the  army,  the  latest  news  from  the  front,  in  Vir- 
ginia, and  the  probabilities  of  the  success  of  the  campaign 
in  the  West. 

General  Clive  answered  them  all ;  he  was  pleased  with 
the  man's  intelligence  and  stanch  loyalty,  but  when  the 
catechism  had  lasted  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  he  gave  an 
impatient  glance  at  his  brother,  who  came  directly  to  his 
assistance. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  about  your  county  police,  Mr. 
Merrill,"  said  he.  "  I  have  some  investigations  of  a 


THE    CLOUD    BEGINS   TO    felFT.  221 

rather  delicate  nature  which  I  thought  of  putting  in  their 
hands.  Are  they  efficient,  or  not  ?  " 

"  Not  above  the  ordinary,"  said  John,  shrewdly.  "  But 
they'd  do  very  well  to  get  up  a  case  of  burglary,  or  such. 
If  it  was  a  murder,  now,"  —  and  he  looked  inquiringly  at 
his  interrogator,  as  if  wondering  how  far  he  might  ven- 
ture to  be  curious. 

"  I  haven't  turned  lawyer,"  said  Percy  Olive,  laugh- 
ing at  the  Yankee's  expression.  "  And  I  don't  want  to 
'  work  up  a  case.'  But  before  I  set  out  in  search  of  a 
constable,  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  remember  anything 
of  a  child  —  a  little  girl  —  whom  I  have  been  told  was  at 
this  house  some  time  during  the  winter  of  18 —  ?  " 

"  We  had  no  steady  boarders  that  winter,"  said  John, 
after  thinking  for  a  moment. 

"  My  information  is  very  slight ;  I  do  not  know  whether 
the  little  girl  I  am  in  search  of  was  here  with  another 
person  or  not.  But  she  came  here  with  a  man  named 
Barney  Brian"  — 

"  Je-rw-salem ! "  shouted  John,  jumping  out  of  his 
seat,  and  rushing  excitedly  to  the  door.  "  Mary  !  Mary ! 
just  come  here,  will  you." 

The  gentlemen  exchanged  significant  glances.  "  I  hain't 
gone  crazy  just  yet,"  said  John,  seeing  their  expression 
of  surprise,  "  but  my  wife  will  want  to  hear  this.  Many 
a  time  we've  speckalated  about  that  child  —  here  she  is. 
Mary,  here 's  Mr.  Clive  from  New  York  and  his  brother, 
General  Clive,  of  the  —  Army  Corps,  wanting  to  know 
something  about  the  little  girl  you  had  such  a  fancy 
for — Marjorie." 

"  Marjorie  ? "  echoed  Nurse  Mary,  as  she  courtesied 
respectfully  to  the  gentlemen.  "  Dear  soul !  I've  never 
forgotten  her  pretty  ways." 


222  •  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  I  want  to  know  all  you  can  tell  me  about  the  child," 
said  General  Clive,  in  a  husky  voice.  Nurse  Mary  looked 
at  him,  and  decided  that  there  must  be  some  cause  for 
his  agitation,  as  she  told,  in  quite  a  concise  way,  the 
story  of  Judge  Gray's  having  found  Marjorie  in  the 
stage-coach ;  how  he  brought  her  to  Saybrooke,  and  pro- 
vided her  with  clothing,  and  how  Mr.  Stevens  had  taken 
her  away. 

"  After  that,  gentlemen,"  said  Nurse  Mary,  "  I  cannot 
tell  you  about  the  child,  for  I  never  heard  of  her  but 
once,  and  then  Judge  Gray  told  me  that  she  was  well 
and  happy  in  New  York.  The  Judge  is  on  another  court 
now,  and  he  has  not  held  sessions  here  since  that  year, 
18 — ;  we  have  another  judge  in  his  place.  Many  's 
the  time,  as  John  can  tell  you,  that  I  've  talked  of  going 
on  to  see  Master  Reginald  (he  's  a  grown  man  now), 
and  hear  all  about  little  Marjorie,  but  somehow,  the  day 
never  seemed  to  come  when  I  could  leave  and  I'm  getting 
an  old  woman  to  be  gadding.  If  I  might  make  so  bold, 
do  you  know  who  the  child  really  was  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,"  said  Mr.  Clive,  with  a  warning 
look  at  his  brother.  "  The  name  is  a  singular  coinci- 
dence, for  the  child  whom  we  are  trying  to  find  bore  the 
old-fashioned  name  of  Marjorie.  You  are  sure  that  this 
little  girl's  name  was  not  Margaret,  or  Maggie  ?  " 

"  I  am,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  warming  to  her  subject 
with  all  a  woman's  curiosity  and  interest.  "  And  there 
were  many  things  about  the  child  which  made  me  think 
her  better  than  she  seemed.  There  was  her  very  nice 
way  of  speaking  —  quite  proper  and  dainty,  like  Master 
Reginald  himself,  and  she  got  vexed  whenever  any  one 
called  her  '  Irish.'  And  beside,  Barney  hinted  to  me  that 
she  was  nothing  to  him,  or  to  that  McKeon,  either,  where 


THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO   LIFT.  223 

she  had  lived.  And  the  shawl  she  had  wrapped  about 
her  was  quite  too  fine  for  such  people ;  I've  seen  one  of 
Mrs.  Gray's  which  was  very  similar." 

"  I  will  speak,  Percy,"  cried  General  Clive,  who  had  sat 
in  growing  excitement  as  this  conversation  went  on.  "  I 
am  looking  for  my  child,  Mrs.  Merrill !  my  only  child, 
and  her  name  was  Marjorie." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  !  "  ejaculated  the  good-  woman, 
tears  springing  to  her  eyes.  "  If  anything  could  do  my 
heart  good  it 's  such  news  as  that." 

"  What  kind  of  a  shawl  was  the  one  you  are  speaking 
of  ?  "  asked  General  Clive. 

"  This  was  white  in  the  centre,  with  a  border  of  deli- 
cate green  ;  the  border  just  as  nice  as  ever,  but  the  white 
was  badly  soiled.'" 

"  It  really  seems  as  if  we  had  got  upon  the  right  track 
at  last,"  said  Mr.  Clive.  "  I  know  Judge  Gray  by  repu- 
tation ;  he  is  a  judge  of  the  Court  of  Appeals.  We  can 
go  directly  to  his  home  and  find  out  all  about  this  child, 
George.  And  now  Mrs.  Merrill,  I  am  very  hungry,  and 
if  my  brother  here  can  live  on  hope,  I  cannot." 

Nurse  Mary  smiled,  and  bustled  away  to  get  supper 
ready,  leaving  the  brothers  alone ;  talking  briskly  to  her 
husband  over  the  strange  story  which  she  half  suspected 
must  hang  around  Marjorie's  life,  as  she  beat  up  her 
omelet  and  fried  the  potatoes. 

It  was  quite  impossible  for  General  Clive  to  be  any- 
thing but  restless  under  the  excitement  which  hearing 
Mrs.  Merrill's  story  had  caused.  He  concluded  that  any 
reference  to  the  Saybrooke  police  would  be  unnecessary, 
and  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  go  on  to  see  Judge 
Gray  the  next  day,  having  just  so  much  time  to  spare  be- 
fore joining  the  army.  Half  the  evening  he  sat  talking 


224  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

with  Nurse  Mary,  hearing  every  little  detail  that  she 
could  recollect  about  Marjorie,  the  color  of  her  hair,  her 
sad  eyes,  and  gentle  ways ;  the  good  woman  ran  on  un- 
weariedly  about  the  child.  Of  Barney  she  could  say  but 
little  ;  he  had  left  Wynn,  and  had  never  returned  there, 
but  the  rumor  of  his  having  got  on  in  the  world,  thanks 
to  Judge  Gray,  had  reached  her. 

The  next  day,  General  Clive  said  good-by  to  Saybrooke 
and  started  for  Binghamton,  thence  to  Judge  Gray's. 

His  brother  left  him  at  Binghamton,  having  business 
which  called  him  directly  to  New  York,  where  General 
Clive  would  see  him  for  an  hour  as  he  passed  through  on 
his  way  to  join  his  command. 

The  hours  seemed  very  long  to  the  impatient  father, 
even  though  he  kept  telling  himself  that  perhaps  disap- 
pointment was  in  store  for  him  at  the  end  of  his  journey. 
When  he  finally  arrived  at  his  destination  he  drove  to  an 
hotel,  made  a  hasty  toilet  after  his  dusty  ride,  and  or- 
dered a  carriage  to  go  to  Judge  Gray's. 

"  Is  this  the  house  ?  "  said  he,  to  the  hackman,  as  they 
stopped. 

"  Yes,  sir,  this  is  the  place,  but  it  looks  mighty  like 
being  shut  up,"  said  the  man.  "  Shall  I  pull  the  bell  ?  " 

But  General  Clive  preferred  to  do  that  himself,  and 
after  several  impatient  rings  a  sleepy  looking  maid  opened 
the  door. 

"  Is  Judge  Gray  at  home  ?  "  asked  General  Clive. 

"  No  sir." 

"When  will  he  be  in?"  asked  the  questioner,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Dade,  sir,  I  don't  know.  The  Judge  have  gone  on 
till  —  wirra,  but  the  name  is  beyont  me,  entirely,  where 
the  soldiers  is  any  way  —  to  see  Mr.  Reginald  —  Captain 
Gray,  that  is,  his  son." 


THE   CLOUD   BEGINS   TO  LIFT.  225 

"  How  long  has  he  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Three  days  sure." 

"  Don't  you  know  when  he  will  return  ?  "  asked  Gen- 
eral Clive. 

"  I  think  he'll  not  be  gone  mor'an  this  day  week,  least, 
the  other  servants  will  be  back  then." 

"  Is  there  nobody  here  with  whom  I  can  leave  a  mes- 
sage ?  "  asked  General  Clive. 

';  Sorra  a  one  but  me,"  said  the  girl,  staring  at  him. 
"  Would  ye  lave  your  name,  sure  ?  Miss  Rachel  has  gone 
away  on  a  journey,  and  there  's  nobody  here,  and  the 
parlor  's  shut  up,  or  I'd  be  after  axing  ye  to  walk  in." 

General  Clive  reflected  a  moment ;  then  he  took  a  card 
from  his  pocket  and  scribbled  a  line  on  it,  — 

"  I  called  upon  important  business,  but  will  write  you 
from  head-quarters,  where  I  am  ordered  immediately. 
May  I  beg  for  an  early  reply  to  my  letter." 

"  Give  that  to  Judge  Gray  as  soon  as  he  arrives,"  said 
he  ;  "  there  is  no  other  message." 

Back  to  the  hotel,  in  great  haste,  when  he  found  that 
he  had  just  lost  the  sleeping-train  to  New  York,  and  would 
be  forced  to  wait  until  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  This 
would  give  him  barely  time  to  reach  Washington,  so  he 
dispatched  a  telegram  to  his  brother  Percy,  asking  him 
to  meet  him  at  the  depot  on  his  way  through  New  York ; 
then  he  smoked,  or  tried  to  smoke  a  cigar,  and  finally, 
throwing  it  away  in  restless  disgust,  he  threw  himself  on 
his  bed  to  dream  that  a  golden-haired  girl  with  Madeline's 
own  smile  stood  before  him,  and,  on  waking,  found  his 
cheeks  wet  with  unwonted  tears. 

15 


226  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER   XVni. 

CAPTAIN  BEX. 

MISS  DEBBY  rattled  the  breakfast  cups,  and  glanced 
over  at  Dora's  empty  chair  with  a  lowering  brow 
that  betokened  the  approach  of  a  domestic  hurricane. 
The  eleventh  commandment  on  her  table  of  laws  was  in 
regard  to  early  rising ;  she  firmly  believed  that  all  the 
virtues  began  with  getting  up  when  the  birds  did.  Many 
had  been  the  trials  of  poor  Miss  Debby  since  she  left  her 
beloved  Massachusetts  and  came  to  this  benighted  land 
where  the  very  negroes  loved  to  lie  abed  in  the  morning, 
and  where  seven  o'clock  breakfasts  were  looked  upon  as  a 
relic  of  past  ages  by  most  of  the  neighborhood.  Aunt 
Debby's  cap  (if  she  had  worn  one)  would  have  long  ago 
been  lifted  a  few  feet  from  the  crown  of  her  head  if  her 
favorite  assurance  that  "  such  laziness  made  her  hair  stand 
up  straight !  "  had  been  carried  out.  Grandma  Frost  was 
a  great  comfort  to  her  in  these  seasons  of  exasperation ; 
no  matter  how  early  the  hour  at  which  Aunt  Debby 
elected  to  leave  her  bed  and  energetically  proceed  to  fling 
open  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  house  and  call  up  the 
servants,  grandma's  night-cap  would  be  seen  peering  out 
of  her  door,  and  her  mild  voice  heard  saying,  "  Is  that 
thee,  Debby  ?  Most  breakfast  time  ?  " 

But  above  all,  Dora  was  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  on  this 
subject.  Aunt  Debby  "declared"  every  morning,  regu- 
larly, that  her  conduct,  "  for  a  grown  girl,  was  disgrace- 
ful," and  would  append  the  satirical  reflection  that  she'd 
like  to  see  the  house  she'd  keep ;  guessed  it  would  do  the 


CAPTAIN  EEX.  227 

keeping  itself  !  u  You  know  very  well,  Dora,"  she  would 
add,  with  indignant  emphasis,  "  you  know  that  nothing 
whatever  can  be  done  in  a  house  until  the  breakfast  things 
are  cleared  away.  Servants  standing  around  waiting,  and 
everything  going  at  sixes  and  sevens  ;  not  one  blessed  bit 
of  work  can  I  get  begun  until  your  breakfast  is  over.  I 
mean  to  buy  a  cow-bell  and  see  if  that  won't  wake  you 
up." 

Which  she  did,  the  very  next  time  she  went  in  to  Deep- 
water  Run,  and  in  her  matutinal  promenades  for  some 
days  after,  she  made  noise  enough  to  aAvaken  the  seven 
sleepers  of  celebrated  memory,  but  it  only  brought  Puck 
prancing  out  in  his  little  toga,  in  a  state  of  rampant  glee 
at  the  commotion,  praying  to  be  allowed  to  "  wing  the 
bell  in  Dowa's  ears,"  and  had  no  effect  whatever  upon  the 
delinquent,  who  calmly  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep 
again  as  soon  as  the  cow-bell  ceased. 

"  Dowa  ain't  up  yet ;  weckon  I  shall  have  to  tend  to 
that  bell,"  said  Puck,  in  a  voice  of  mild  conviction,  as  he 
saw  Aunt  Debby's  glance. 

"  Don't  speak  with  your  mouth  full  of  bread  and 
butter,  me  dear,"  said  Posy,  in  a  funny  whisper,  which 
was  perfectly  audible  to  the  rest  of  the  company.  Puck 
frowned  at  her,  but  was  prevented  from  replying  by  a 
spoonful  of  mush  and  milk  which  nearly  choked  him  and 
kept  him  occupied  for  full  a  minute. 

"  Dora  never  is  ready,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  sharply. 
"  I'am  glad  to  see  that  Miss  Russell  is  punctual." 

"  Mrs.  Moulton's  study  hours  were  early,"  said  Mar- 
jorie,  smiling  brightly  at  her  from  her  corner  of  the  table. 
"  Posy  made  me  a  call  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  bed  and 
that  woke  me." 

"  I  should  think  it  might,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  smiling 


228  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

in  her  turn  at  the  gentle  face  opposite  her.  "  I  don't 
mean  to  have  the  children  with  you  all  the  time.  How 
did  you  rest  last  night  ?  The  dogs  kept  me  awake  for  an 
hour,  and  then  I  heard  them  the  first  thing  this  morning." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  was  the  first  thing,  Aunt  Debby," 
said  Dora,  languidly  taking  her  seat  at  the  table.  "  I 
heard  your  window  go  up,  well,  some  time  before  dawn." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it.  What  convenient  ears  you  have, 
Dora  ;  they  never  hear  when  I  want  them  to.  I'm  afraid 
the  coffee  is  cold  ;  Uncle  Cato,  please  get  some  that  is  hot," 
said  Aunt  Debby,  whose  hospitality  would  not  allow  her 
to  give  cold  coffee  even  to  Dora,  unless  she  was  later  than 
this. 

Marjorie  had  arrived  the  day  before,  escorted  by  Mr. 
Giles,  a  neighbor  of  the  Frosts,  who  had  brought  her 
from  Washington,  not  having  been  able  to  get  to  Phil- 
adelphia as  he  had  anticipated  at  first.  But  Marjorie  had 
enjoyed  her  journey  with  Captain  Randolph  very  much, 
and  the  sight  of  a  review  of  the  troops  at  Georgetown, 
which  happened  to  occur  the  day  that  she  stayed  over  in 
Washington,  delighted  her  extremely. 

It  seemed  very  strange  to  have  permits  to  pass  the  lines, 
but  after  journeying  a  little  further  the  aspect  of  the 
country  grew  less  warlike,  and  Deepwater  Run  was  the 
stupidest  looking  village  imaginable,  so  totally  unlike  any- 
thing that  Marjorie  had  ever  seen  at  the  North  that  she 
felt  as  if  she  must  be  in  another  country,  and  her  first 
touch  of  homesickness  came  over  her,  as  she  realized  that 
she  was  really  in  Virginia,  and  that  during  war  times. 

Puck  and  Posy  were  introduced  to  their  gentle  little 
governess  in  a  very  characteristic  manner.  Their  minds 
had  been  much  excited,  and  their  imagination  had  ex- 
hausted itself  in  trying  to  picture  what  a  governess  looked 


CAPTAIN   REX.  229 

like  ;  so,  upon  the  day  that  Marjorie  was  expected  they 
were  in  a  perfect  twitter  of  excitement  and  implored  Aunt 
Debby,  Dora,  and  Silvy,  in  turn,  to  dress  them  in  their 
very  best  Sunday  clothes  to  do  honor  to  Miss  Russell's 
arrival.  After  they  were  dressed,  Dora  had  shut  both 
children  and  Blot  in  the  nursery,  and  left  them  playing 
contentedly,  telling  them  not  to  come  down  until  she 
came  for  them. 

Aunt  Debby  was  standing  on  the  front  piazza,  welcom- 
ing Marjorie  cordially,  and  shaking  hands  with  Mr.  Giles, 
when  a  little  bobbing  head  came  out  of  the  front  door, 
and  Posy's  scandalized  voice  exclaimed,  — 

"  I  shall  tell  Aunt  Debby  ;  it 's  a  girl,  anyhow ;  "  and 
as  Marjorie  turned  to  look  at  the  little  figure,  Posy 
caught  hold  of  Miss  Debby's  skirt,  in  great  excitement. 

"  O,  Aunt  Debby,  what  do  you  think  Puck  says  ? 
He  baptized  my  doll,  Belvidera,  and  he  gaved  her  a  new 
name  —  Elijah  the  Tishbite  !  Shall  she  be  called  that 
when  she  's  a  girl  ?  " 

Marjorie  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  and  laughed  heart- 
ily, as  a  rebellious  voice  cried,  from  the  staircase  — 

"  Belvidewa  's  a  —  heathen  name,"  bump,  bump,  "  and 
Aunt  Debby  said  so  "  —  puff,  —  "  and  Elijah  the  Tish- 
bite is  a  vewy  Cwishtian  name,  'cause  it  was  in  the  lesson 
—  yesterday,"  finished  Puck,  triumphantly,  getting  to 
the  end  of  the  stairs  and  his  breath  at  the  same  moment. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  give  you  a  name  for  her,"  said  Mar- 
jorie, as  the  children  brought  up  suddenly  in  front  of  her, 
and  Avere  recalled  to  a  remembrance  of  politeness  by 
Dora's  warning  glance. 

"  I'm  Posy,"  said  that  little  personage,  introducing 
herself  instantly,  "  and  this  is  my  brother,  Puck.  His 
name  's  Jonathan  Edwards  Frost,  but  I  never  call  him  so 
'cept  when  he  's  an  improper-behaved  boy." 


230  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  You  haven't  called  me  so  since  the  day  we  got 
dwowned  in  the  fwog  pond,"  said  Puck.  "  This  is  Blot, 
my  dog." 

Marjorie  acknowledged  the  presentation  by  a  pat  on 
the  Skye  terrier's  head,  who  wagged  his  tail  daintily  in 
return,  and  immediately  took  refuge  between  the  sturdy 
fat  legs  of  his  little  master. 

"  He  doesn't  get  acquainted  vewy  easily,"  said  Puck, 
apologizing. 

"  This  is  the  doll,"  said  Posy,  seeing  that  Dora  was 
approaching,  and  being  very  curious  to  know  what  name 
her  new  friend  could  suggest.  "  Wasn't  it  very  wrong  of 
Puck  to  baptize  her  '  Elijah  the  Tishbite  ?  '  Now  I  can't 
take  it  back,  can  I  ?  "  and  Posy  looked  ready  to  cry. 

"  But  you  can  give  her  a  nickname,"  interposed  Mar- 
jorie, "just  as  you  call  Puck,  Puck,  instead  of  Jona- 
than." 

"  Vewy  twue,"  quoth  Puck,  with  solemn  countenance, 
making  up  his  mind  that  "  Miss  Wussell "  was  much  pret- 
tier than  Dora,  who  had  heretofore  been  his  ideal  of 
beauty. 

"  What  nickname  ?  "  demanded  Posy,  breathlessly. 

"  How  do  you  like  Seraphina  ?  Very  long  ago,  when 
I  was  a  little  girl,"  said  Marjorie,  a  shadow  stealing  over 
her  face,  that,  for  a  moment,  made  her  look  as  if  it  were 
really  very  long  ago  to  her,  — "  when  I  was  a  little  girl  I 
had  a  doll,  and  I  called  her  Seraphina." 

"  That 's  bu-ti-ful !  "  cried  Posy,  hugging  Elijah  the 
Tishbite  enthusiastically ;  and  the  unconscious  prophet 
was  dubbed  Seraphina  from  that  moment. 

Grandma  Frost  was  sitting  in  the  parlor  as  Marjorie 
entered,  as  beautiful  a  picture  of  an  old  lady  as  one  can 
well  imagine.  In  the  quaint  dress  of  a  Friend,  her  snowy 


CAPTAIN  REX.  231 

kerchief  folded  across  her  bosom,  her  gray  silk,  and  little 
brown  shawl,  just  large  enough  to  cover  the  shoulders 
and  falling  to  the  waist,  with  her  sweet,  placid  face  and 
gentle  dignity,  Marjorie  thought  she  had  never  seen  any 
one  who  impressed  her  so  much.  Grandma  sat  in  an  old- 
fashioned,  straight-back  chair,  erect  as  ever,  although  she 
was  ninety  years  of  age,  knitting  in  a  noiseless  way  pecul- 
iar to  herself,  but  she  laid  the  work  down  as  Marjorie 
advanced  toward  her. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  see  thee,"  said  the  old  lady,  smiling. 
"  How  does  thee  do  ?  Why,  thee  is  hardly  more  than  a 
child  thyself.  What  do  they  call  thee  ?  " 

"  Daisy  Russell,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  Daisy  ?  To  be  sure  !  Nowadays,  thee  sees,  they  call 
the  young  folks  after  all  sorts  of  names  ;  in  my  day,  we 
took  them  from  the  Bible,  or  used  the  old  family  names 
of  fifty  years  before." 

"  Such  ugly  names  as  they  were,  grandma,"  said  Dora. 
"  I've  read  them  in  the  old  Bible  record,  often.  Aaron, 
Jeremiah,  Eliphalet,  Orchard ;  and  then  the  women  — 
Miriam,  Rebecca,  Mehitable,  Deborah,"  and  Dora  looked 
mischievous  she  gave  the  last  on  her  list. 

"  Good,  sensible  names  that  mean  something,"  said 
Aunt  Debby,  emphatically. 

"  We  made  sensible  women  out  of  Rebecca  and  Debo- 
rah," said  grandma,  laughing.  "  But  I  don't  think  Me- 
hitable would  suit  thee,  Daisy ;  it  would  be  a  very  long 
name  for  such  a  little  body.  We  have  droll  nicknames 
in  this  house.  Posy,  there,  for  instance ;  her  name  is 
Helen,  after  her  mother ;  but  her  father  could  not  bear  to 
hear  his  wife's  name  after  her  death,  and  the  baby,  thee 
sees,  was  as  sweet  as  a  garden  posy,  so,  one  day,  Reuben 
said  she  should  be  called  so.  And  Puck  ;  that  was  some 


232  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

of  Dora's  fanciful  ideas.  I  cannot  say  that  I  altogether 
like  to  give  up  the  old-fashioned  '  Jonathan,'  but  we  must 
conform  sometimes,  and  by  and  by,  when  he  grows  older, 
it  will  be  Puck's  turn  to  be  known  by  the  family  name." 

"  It 's  dwefful  hard  to  confowm,  gwandma,"  said  Puck, 
thrusting  himself  into  the  circle,  and  prefacing  his  re- 
marks by  a  long-drawn  sigh.  "  An'  Jonathan  ain't  half 
so  nice  a  name  as  some  others.  Why  didn't  you  and 
papar  call  me  Elijah  the  Tishbite  ?  " 

A  hearty  laugh  from  the  entire  company  reduced  Puck 
to  a  pitiful  state  of  mystification,  and  grandma  laughed 
more  than  anybody,  on  hearing  the  story  of  the  doll's 
baptism. 

As  the  days  went  on,  Marjorie  began  to  like  her  life  at 
the  Frosts  thoroughly.  The  very  negroes  gave  her  a 
home  feeling,  thinking  of  Phebe,  and  they  took  a  great 
liking  to  "  li'le  Missy  from  de  Norf,"  as  they  called  her. 
Mrs.  Frost's  negroes  were  mostly  house-servants.  Very 
many  of  those  who  had  worked  upon  the  estate  had  run 
away  since  the  war  began,  and  the  old  lady  would  take 
no  steps  to  recover  them,  as  she  was  at  first  urged  to  do 
by  her  secession  neighbors.  At  last  came  the  Emanci- 
pation Proclamation,  and  in  her  heart  grandma  rejoiced, 
and,  as  she  told  Aunt  Debby,  privately,  "  I  can  hold  up 
my  head  again,  for  thee  knows  it  has  gone  sadly  against 
my  principles  to  hold  them  in  bondage.  No  matter  if 
Puck  and  Posy  are  the  poorer  for  it ;  the  money  will  be 
cleaner,  and  the  curse  lifted  from  the  land." 

Grandma's  ideas  on  the  subject  of  slavery  were  pretty 
well  known  in  the  neighborhood,  but  she  was  so  highly 
respected  that  her  abolitionism  was  laid  to  the  fact  of  her 
being  a  Friend.  She  was  obliged  to  be  very  prudent  in 
war  matters,  however  ;  like  all  Unionists  at  the  South  in 


CAPTAIN  REX.  233 

those  days,  she  never  felt  secure.  The  bolt  might  fall  at 
any  moment ;  and,  for  the  children's  sake,  the  old  lady 
held  her  peace,  and  buried  her  stanch  patriotism  and 
ardent  love  for  the  Stars  and  Stripes  within  her  own 
bosom.  She  could  remember  three  wars  ;  it  remained 
for  the  fourth  to  fill  those  aged  blue  eyes  with  tears. 
Such  stories  as  grandma  could  tell,  with  all  the  vivacity 
and  minuteness  of  detail  that  carried  one  back  into  the 
very  times  themselves  ;  told,  too,  with  a  simple  elegance 
of  language  and  clearness  of  thought  which  fascinated 
the  listener,  from  older  people  down  to  Puck  and  Posy, 
who  thought  grandma's  recollections  were  equal  to  any 
fairy  tales  extant. 

Dora,  who  at  first  had  been  rather  distant  and  fine- 
lady  ish  in  her  manner  toward  Marjorie,  thawed  after 
a  while,  and  plunged  into  the  opposite  extreme,  desiring 
to  be  very  intimate  all  at  once.  But  Majorie  had  the 
same  reserve  and  dignity  which  had  been  her  character- 
istic as  a  child  ;  and,  although  she  was  perfectly  kind  and 
cordial  in  her  manner,  Dora  had  an  aggravating  feeling 
that  she  could  get  no  nearer  this  childlike-looking  gov- 
erness. And  it  vexed  her ;  she  began  to  be  suspicious, 
where  no  cause  for  suspicion  existed,  and  gave  Majorie 
credit  for  being  "  very  deep  and  sly,"  whereas,  it  was  the 
purity  and  utter  simplicity  of  the  girl  which  baffled  her. 
And  another  thing  annoyed  Dora,  although  she  would 
not  for  the  world  have  had  it  known. 

The  Frost's  nearest  neighbors  were  a  family  named 
Peyton,  who  prided  themselves  upon  being  one  of  the 
much- vaunted  "  F.  F.  V.'s,"  and  were  the  hottest  of  hot 
secessionists.  The  two  sons,  Clifford  and  Harry,  were  in 
the  Confederate  army,  and  the  girls,  Belle  and  Rose,  were, 
if  any  tiling,  more  attached  to  the  cause  than  their  brothers. 


234  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Belle  and  Dora  were  bosom  friends ;  they  had  been  school- 
mates, and  during  the  past  six  months  they  had  been 
visiting  together  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Peyton's  brother,  in 
Richmond.  Rose  was  the  younger  of  the  two  sisters,  and 
she  had  taken  a  violent  fancy  to  the  little  Northerner 
whom  Fortune  had  sent  down  among  them,  very  much  to 
the  disgust  of  her  sister  and  Dora.  And  unfortunately, 
Harry  Peyton  (who  happened  to  be  at  home,  where  he 
had  been  sent  from  an  hospital,  to  recover  his  health) 
had  chosen  to  express  great  admiration  for  the  pure,  inno- 
cent eyes,  and  unconscious  beauty  of  Marjorie's  quiet  face ; 
expressed,  too,  in  the  high-flown  language  of  a  very  young 
man,  who  could  not  comprehend  that  Marjorie's  failure  to 
understand  his  compliments  proceeded  from  her  being 
totally  unused  to  anything  of  the  sort.  This  had  been 
the  drop  too  much  in  Dora's  cup,  for  Harry  had  been  her 
special  cavalier  ever  since  she  was  in  pantalettes,  and  her 
feelings  toward  Marjorie  rapidly  verged  upon  rancorous 
spite. 

One  afternoon  as  Marjorie  sat  reading  aloud  to  the 
children  in  the  nursery,  she  became  aware,  by  the  sounds 
from  the  piazza  below  her,  that  a  carriage  full  of  guests 
had  arrived. 

Puck  and  Posy  had  been  having  a  mischievous  outbreak 
that  morning,  and  they  were  condemned  to  exile  in  their 
own  room  for  the  entire  afternoon.  Marjorie  had,  how- 
ever, so  far  mitigated  the  punishment  as  to  come  and  read 
several  fairy-tales  from  Grimm's  story-book,  and  when 
she  heard  the  hubbub  of  guests  outside  the  house,  quite 
congratulated  herself  upon  having  such  occupation.  But 
she  was  not  permitted  to  remain  quiet  long,  for  the  door 
opened,  presently,  with  an  impatient  jerk. 

"  Are  you  up  here  ?  "  demanded  Dora,  petulantly,  put- 


CAPTAIN  REX.  235 

ting  her  pretty  face  inside.  "  I  came  to  ask  if  you  can't 
come  down.  Grandma  's  asleep,  and  Aunt  Debby  's  off 
somewhere  on  one  of  her  tramps  over  the  place,  and  the 
Peytons  are  here,  and  who  do  you  think  should  just  drive 
up,  in  addition,  but  Cousin  Lemuel  Hicks." 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  asked  Marjorie,  laying  down  her 
book,  and  thinking  she  must  call  Silvy  to  make  the  chil- 
dren presentable. 

"  O,  a  prosy  old  fellow,  a  cousin  of  grandma's  uncle 
or  somebody  equally  near,  who  lives  beyond  Deep  water 
Run  in  the  nicest  old  house  —  so  I've  heard  ;  I've  never 
been  there  and  never  want  to,"  said  Dora,  regardless  of 
syntax.  "  And  Belle  and  Rose  never  saw  him  before,  and 
I  know  they'll  giggle,  and  /  can't  talk  to  them  all,  at  once, 
you  know,  so  I  thought  I'd  run  up  and  beg  you  to  come 
down  for  half  an  hour,  until  grandma  wakes  up.  I  carried 
him  off  into  the  next  room  ;  you  don't  mind  —  do  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Marjorie,  pleasantly.  "  If  you 
think  Posy  's  apron  is  clean  enough  I  will  put  a  fresh 
blouse  on  Puck  and  take  them  down  with  me.  They 
might  get  into  mischief  if  I  leave  them  here  alone." 

"  Why  don't  you  call  Silvy  to  dress  them,"  said  Dora, 
as  Marjorie  began  to  smooth  Puck's  refractory  brown 
curls. 

"  She  is  ironing,  and  I  know  she  wants  to  get  done  be- 
fore tea,"  said  Marjorie,  simply. 

"  You  do  beat  all,"  said  Dora.  "  If  you'd  lived  among 
these  lazy  niggers  as  long  as  I  have  you'd  find  out  that 
the  only  way  to  get  anything  out  of  'em  is  to  keep  at  'em 
all  the  time.  And  it 's  worse  than  ever  now,  since  that 
interesting  Proclamation.  Hurry,  won't  you ;  cousin 
Lemuel  might  get  tired  and  march  out  on  the  piazza,  and 
I  don't  want  the  Peytons  to  see  him  —  O,  dear  !  They  '11 


236  MARJORIE  S    QUEST. 

all  stay  to  tea,  and  have  to  meet ;  "  and  with  a  despairing 
shake  of  the  head,  Dora  vanished. 

"  Cousin  Lemuel  —  that 's  the  old  gentleman  who 
bwings  us  peppermints  ;  don't  you  mewember,  Posy  ?  " 
said  Puck,  tugging  at  his  shoe-strings. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Posy,  promptly,  with  a  dive  that 
nearly  upset  the  basin  in  which  she  was  washing  her 
hands.  "  That  was  five  or  six  years  ago." 

"You  made  a  mistook  this  time,"  retorted  Puck  — 
"  five  years !  you  ain't  but  five  years  old,  Posy.  How 
could  you  know  'bout  Cousin  Lemuel's  peppermints  'fore 
you  was  born  ?  " 

"  Papa  told  me  when  I  was  a  baby,  me  dear,"  said 
Posy,  with  a  calm  assurance  which  rather  staggered  Puck. 

"  Come,  children  ;  take  care  of  that  top  step,  Posy," 
and  with  a  rosy  face  on  each  side  of  her  Marjorie  went 
down  into  the  little  west  parlor. 

An  elderly  Friend  sat  in  the  large  rocking-chair,  fan- 
ning himself  leisurely,  and  Marjorie  had  only  time  to 
think  what  an  odd,  rusty-looking  figure  he  was,  before  he 
turned  and  saw  her. 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  said  Friend  Hicks,  in  the  gruffest  of 
voices,  but  rising  courteously,  nevertheless,  on  Marjorie's 
entrance.  "  One  of  thy  visitors,  Puck  ?  " 

"  It 's  our  governess,"  cried  both  children,  in  a  breath. 

"  I  am  Daisy  Russell,"  said  Marjorie,  introducing  her- 
self in  the  simple  Quaker  fashion.  "  Mrs.  Frost  is  asleep, 
and  the  children  and  I  came  down  to  keep  you  company 
until  Miss  Debby  comes  in  from  a  visit  to  a  poor  woman. 
I  am  expecting  her  every  moment." 

"  Is  there  any  more  of  thee  ?  "  asked  the  old  gentle- 
man, abruptly,  his  grim  face  softening  as  he  glanced  at 
the  sweet  one  before  him. 


CAPTAIN   REX.  237 

"  Sir  ?  "  said  Marjorie,  opening  her  eyes  a  little,  and 
wondering  if  she  could  have  left  a  piece  of  herself  outside 
on  the  door-mat. 

"  Have  you  got  any  brothers  and  sisters  ?  —  that  's 
what  Cousin  Lemuel  means,"  interposed  Puck,  seeing 
her  face  of  bewilderment. 

"  O  !  "  and,  try  as  she  might,  a  smile  of  quiet  fun 
danced  around  Marjorie's  lips.  "I  beg  your  pardon  — 
no ;  I  am  an  orphan." 

"  Thee  looks  very  young  to  be  a  teacher,  very,"  said 
Friend  Hicks. 

"  I  am  young,"  said  Marjorie,  gently.  "  But  I  have 
to  earn  my  own  living,  you  know.  Mrs.  Moulton  (the 
lady  in  Philadelphia  who  educated  me)  was  a  very  faith- 
ful teacher,  and  she  thought  I  was  competent  to  teach 
children  as  young  as  these." 

"  Louisa  Moulton,  eh  ?  Then  thee  knows  something, 
which  is  more  than  I  can  say  for  most  girls  in  these  days. 
An  orphan  ?  well,"  nodding  abruptly,  "  the  Lord  takes 
care  of  those  who  try  to  help  themselves,  thee'll  find. 
And  how  is  Louisa  Moulton  in  these  perilous  times  ?  " 

Posy,  who  considered  that  she  had  been  left  out  of  the 
conversation  quite  long  enough,  stuck  her  arch  face  over 
Friend  Hicks'  shoulder,  having  climbed  on  the  back  of  his 
chair  for  that  purpose.  "  I  s'pose  you  haven't  got  any 
peppermints  for  little  girls  ? "  said  she,  in  an  indescrib- 
ably insinuating  voice. 

"  Posy !  You're  vewy  impolite,"  said  Puck,  in  vir- 
tuous indignation,  but  edging  nearer  the  pocket  from 
whence  the  peppermints  might  be  expected. 

"  Heyday !  so  thee  remembers  the  last  time,"  said 
Friend  Hicks,  wheeling  around  toward  the  little  pleader 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  notwithstanding  his  gruff  tones. 


238  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  No,  it  was  me,"  cried  Puck,  as  the  great  hand  was 
pulled  out  of  the  pocket  and  disclosed  a  paper  full  of 
tempting  red  and  white  peppermints. 

"  Thee  said  thy  little  sister  was  very  impolite  to  ask," 
said  Friend  Hicks,  holding  the  candy  suspended  over  the 
heads  of  the  round-eyed  pair. 

"  Well,"  said  Puck,  with  the  utmost  deliberation,  and 
drawing  his  R's  to  twice  their  usual  length,  "  I  weckon 
I'm  —  impolite  too ! " 

Friend  Hicks  indulged  in  the  dry  chuckle  which  seemed 
to  be  his  nearest  approach  to  a  laugh  at  this  naive 
admission,  and  Puck  and  Posy  retired  into  a  corner  to 
discuss  the  peppermints  as  Aunt  Debby  and  grandma 
came  in  the  side  door. 

Grandma  seemed  very  glad  to  see  the  old  gentleman, 
and  the  pair  seated  themselves,  grandma  in  her  straight- 
backed  chair,  and  Friend  Hicks  opposite  her,  and  began 
a  cautious  conversation  upon  the  perilous  times  and  the 
war  which  seemed  to  come  nearer  them  every  day.  Aunt 
Debby  improved  the  opportunity  to  give  minute  direc- 
tions as  to  the  arrangement  of  Friend  Hicks'  room  to 
Marjorie,  who  offered  to  oversee  Silvy's  handiwork  and 
get  out  the  clean  linen.  It  was  proof  of  Aunt  Debby 's 
liking  for  Marjorie  that  she  handed  out  the  keys  of 
the  linen  closet ;  a  mysterious  sanctum  which  Dora  had 
never  yet  been  permitted  to  set  her  foot  inside  of  ;  but 
Marjorie  had  shown  herself  willing  and  ready  to  be  of 
service  in  many  ways  since  her  arrival,  and  now  she 
slipped  quietly  away  to  execute  Aunt  Debby's  orders  and 
see  that  the  guest  was  made  comfortable. 

When  she  came  down  again,  half  an  hour  later,  she 
found  the  family  going  out  to  tea,  and  Rose  Peyton  laid 
hold  upon  her  immediately. 


CAPTAIN  REX.  239 

"  Where  have  you  been  hiding,  you  Northern  lily," 
said  Rose,  who  was  a  bundle  of  small  affectations,  and 
had  chosen  this  poetical  style  of  addressing  Marjorie. 
"  Dora  said  you  were  entertaining  that  curious  old  bear," 
a  backward  glance  at  Friend  Hicks,  "  and  I  had  half  a 
mind  to  run  away  from  the  others  and  help  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Marjorie.  "But  he  is  not  a  bear 
at  all ;  I  liked  him."  Which  remark  caused  Rose  to 
regard  her  with  a  puzzled  stare ;  any  man  over  five-and- 
twenty  was  a  fossilized  specimen,  to  Rose. 

Marjorie  found  Harry  Peyton  at  her  elbow  as  they 
seated  themselves  at  the  tea-table,  and  he  cleverly  slipped 
into  Puck's  seat  on  her  left  hand,  that  young  gentleman 
having  attached  himself  closely  to  Friend  Hicks.  The 
children  usually  sat  one  on  either  side  of  their  governess, 
and  Posy's  apron  was  so  stiff,  and  the  strings  starched  so 
much,  that  several  of  Harry's  complimentary  speeches 
passed  unheeded  while  Marjorie  was  attending  to  her 
little  charge. 

"  I  think  you  might  give  me  half  an  ear.  Miss  Daisy," 
said  he,  in  a  low  voice.  "  All  I  can  see  is  the  back  of 
your  neck.  I'm  going  off  before  long,  and  you  might  be 
a  little  kind." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  what  did  you  say  ?  "  said  Mar- 
jorie, turning  a  face  of  such  entire  simplicity  toward 
Harry,  that,  for  a  moment,  it  completely  confused  him. 

"  I  said  I  was  going  away,"  said  he,  recovering  himself. 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  say  I'm  sorry  ?  "  said  she, 
smiling.  "  My  sympathies  are  all  on  the  other  side,  you 
know." 

"  We've  had  quite  a  skirmish  in  the  Valley,  lately," 
Cliff  Peyton  was  saying  on  the  other  side  of  the  table. 
"  An  hundred  or  so  killed,  and  as  many  more  wounded. 
The  Yankees  got  the  worst  of  it  though,  and  fell  back." 


240  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Were  they  outnumbered  ?  "  asked  Marjorie.  She 
knew  it  was  not  prudent,  but  she  could  not  help  it. 

"  Like  as  not,"  said  he,  carelessly,  thinking  that  if  the 
little  governess  had  not  been  so  pretty  he  would  be  angry. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  '  of  course,'  "  said  Aunt  Debby, 
emphatically.  "  O,  I  forgot.  Five  Yankees  to  one  Con- 
federate is  about  the  right  allowance,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Just  about,"  said  Harry,  interposing,  good-naturedly. 
"  Don't  be  so  caustic,  Miss  Debby.  You're  the  only 
Yankee  I  ever  saw  who  could  make  corn-bread  like  this." 

"Lucky  I've  got  something  to  make  me  endurable," 
retorted  she.  "  Daisy,  you're  eating  nothing.  Take 
care  that  Posy  doesn't  make  herself  ill  with  marmalade." 

But  the  conversation  had  gotten  a  warlike  aspect  now, 
and  only  respect  for  Mrs.  Frost  kept  the  young  men 
within  bounds.  As  it  was,  Marjorie  sat  listening,  her 
eyes  on  her  plate,  her  cheeks  tingling,  and  a  curious 
lump  in  her  throat,  longing  to  combat  them,  and  feeling 
as  if  she  had  never  realized  how  dear  the  old  Flag  was 
before.  It  was  her  first  experience  in  hearing  Confeder- 
ates talk,  and  happening  to  look  up  she  caught  a  look 
from  under  Friend  Hicks'  bushy  eyebrows  which  betrayed 
that,  however  calm  his  exterior,  inwardly  the  Quaker  was 
carnally-minded  and  "moved  to  anger." 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  Marjorie  avoided  the 
Peytons  as  much  as  she  was  able  to  without  being 
pointed,  and  sat  in  the  west  parlor  talking  to  the  older 
people.  Friend  Hicks  seemed  to  have  taken  a  fancy  to 
her,  so  she  sat  down  by  the  old  gentleman  and  told  him 
all  the  details  in  relation  to  Mrs.  Moulton  which  she 
thought  would  interest  or  amuse  him. 

The  Peytons  went  away,  at  last,  Rose  promising  to 
come  over  in  a  few  days  and  take  Marjorie  and  Dora  out 


CAPTAIN   REX.  241 

on  horseback.  And  then  Marjorie  went  up-stairs  to 
bed. 

Passing  along  the  hall  a  few  minutes  later  on  her  way 
to  ask  Aunt  Debby  a  question,  she  was  startled  by  seeing 
Friend  Hicks'  door  open  softly,  and  his  head  slowly 
emerge  from  the  aperture. 

"  Is  that  thee,  Debby  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  it  's  Daisy.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 
said  she,  wondering  what  could  be  the  matter  as  she  had 
arranged  his  room  with  the  greatest  care. 

"  O  yes,  thee  will  do.  Ahem ! "  clearing  his  throat 
carefully.  "  Could  thee  get  me  a  night-cap  ?  I  have  for- 
gotten mine,  and  I  shall  surely  take  cold  if  I  sleep  with- 
out it." 

"  A  night-cap  ? "  said  Marjorie,  biting  her  lips  to 
restrain  a  smile.  "  I'll  ask  Miss  Debby." 

"  Do ;  I'll  be  infinitely  obliged  to  thee,"  said  Friend 
Hicks,  in  a  relieved  voice,  bobbing  his  head  inside  his 
door  again  as  Marjorie  went  to  find  Miss  Debby. 

"  My  stars ! "  ejaculated  that  lady,  raising  both  her 
hands  in  dismay  at  the  request,  as  Marjorie  explained 
her  guest's  dilemma.  "  Haven't  got  such  a  thing  to  my 
name.  What  ever  shall  I  do  ?  He'll  get  cold,  and,  like 
enough,  be  sick  for  a  week  on  our  hands  —  not  but  what 
I'd  be  willing  to  take  care  of  him ;  and  good  care  too," 
added  Aunt  Debby,  repenting  her  inhospitality.  "  What 
are  you  laughing  at,  Daisy  ?  "  catching  sight  of  Marjorie's 
dancing  eyes  :  "  how  would  one  of  Aunt  Frost's  do,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  he'd  wear  it,"  said  Marjorie,  breaking 
into  a  laugh ;  "  but  I'll  take  it  to  him  and  try,  if  you 
will  give  me  one." 

So  Aunt  Debby  went  into  grandma's  room,  and  pres- 

16 


242  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ently  emerged  therefrom  with  a  night-cap  of  immaculate 
whiteness,  bordered  by  a  frill  of  ancient  pattern,  being 
very  wide  and  very  full.  Marjorie  had  her  doubts  as  to 
its  probable  acceptance,  but  she  took  it,  and  going  to 
Friend  Hicks'  door  tapped  softly. 

"  Did  thee  find  one  ?  "  said  the  gruff  voice,  anxiously, 
as  he  opened  the  door. 

"  Only  this,  sir,"  said  Marjorie,  respectfully,  hoping 
that  Dora  would  not  come  down  the  hall.  "  It 's  one  of 
Mrs.  Frost's,  and  I'm  afraid  you  won't  want  to  wear  it." 

"  Just  the  thing,"  announced  the  old  gentleman,  clap- 
ping it  on  his  head,  and  pulling  the  strings  under  his 
chin  complacently.  "  A  trifle  short  on  the  forehead, 
maybe,  but  I'll  pinch  these  furbelows  down,"  and  he 
gave  the  night-cap  a  pull  which  made  the  frill  bulge  out 
on  the  left  side  in  a  very  tipsy  manner,  and  gave  a  rakish 
look  to  his  grim  face  that  was  indescribable. 

"Is  that  all,  or  can  I  do  anything  more  for  you?" 
asked  Marjorie,  thinking  that  she  had  never  seen  such  an 
irresistibly  comical  figure,  and  controlling  her  smiles  with 
the  utmost  difficulty. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  thee,  no.  Good-night,"  and  she  went 
down  the  hall,  her  face  dimpling  with  amusement. 

"  Friend,"  a  queer  whisper  reached  her  ears  just  as  she] 
touched  the  knob  of  her  door,  and  turning  back  she  saw' 
the  night-cap  bobbing  up  and  down  mysteriously,  "  if 
it  wouldn't  be  too  much  trouble,  would  thee  tie  these 
tapes  ?  My  fingers  are  all  thumbs  ;  I  am  not  accustomed 
to  these  caps,  thee  knows." 

Marjorie  tied  the  night-cap,  and  again  bidding  good- 
night she  got  safely  into  her  own  room  where  her  merri- 
ment exhaled  in  a  long  laugh. 

Fortunately  for  Aunt  Debby,  Friend  Hicks  did  not 


CAPTAIN  EEX.  243 

3atch  cold,  and  the  next  day,  greatly  to  Dora's  relief,  the 
old  gentleman  returned  home,  evidently  much  pleased 
with  his  visit.  He  invited  Marjorie  to  come  and  see  him, 
and  bring  Puck  and  Posy,  and  Marjorie  promised  that 
she  would  go  some  Saturday  and  stay  until  Monday  with 
Aunt  Debby  and  the  children. 

She  little  thought  under  what  circumstances  she  would 
meet  the  grim  old  Quaker  again. 

Puck  had  been  a  model  of  good  behavior  for  some 
days.  He  had  arrived  at  words  of  three  syllables,  and 
having  conquered  half  a  page  of  them  one  morning,  he 
implored  permission  to  accompany  Cato  on  an  expedition 
to  cut  pine-knots  in  a  remote  part  of  the  plantation. 
Posy  was  terribly  discomfited  at  not  being  allowed  to 
accompany  the  party,  but  it  was  too  far  for  her ;  so  she 
watched  Cato,  Puck,  and  Blot  as  long  as  the  cart  was  in 
sight,  and  was  but  partially  consoled  by  one  of  the  most 
exciting  fairy  tales  in  Grimm's  collection. 

Uncle  Cato  was  a  genuine  specimen  of  the  Southern 
negro,  although  his  grizzled  hair  was  white,  in  some 
places ;  and  he  was  much  more  neat  in  his  personal  attire 
than  most  of  his  class.  This  was  owing  to  Mrs.  Frost's 
unwearied  efforts  ;  the  old  lady  was  so  scrupulously  neat 
herself,  that  it  made  her  positively  unhappy  to  have  a 
slovenly  house-servant.  Her  ideas  had  taken  root  with 
Cato,  who  waited  at  table  with  a  style  and  manner  that 
was  very  impressive,  always  standing  at  "  ole  missis' " 
chair,  and  leaving  his  son  Joe  to  wait  upon  Miss  Debby. 
Cato  rarely  went  out  to  do  any  work,  but  the  last  pine- 
knots  that  had  been  brought  home  by  Jim,  the  coachman, 
were  "  a  very  poor  lot,"  as  Cato  said,  so  this  morning  he 
was  determined  to  see  what  he  could  get  for  himself. 
Puck  thought  it  was  great  fun  to  go  with  Uncle  Cato, 


244  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

and  lie  tumbled  around  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart,  playing 
•with  Blot,  and  vainly  endeavoring  to  stand  on  his  head, 
a  proceeding  that  was  attended  with  great  detriment  to 
his  hat  and  his  clothes. 

"  Dis  yer  's  de  place,  I  reckon,"  said  Cato,  standing  up 
in  the  cart  at  last,  and  peering  out  into  the  grove  of  pines. 
"  Jump  down,  Massa  Puck  ;  I'll  take  care  ob  de  hatchet." 

Puck  obeyed,  bursting  two  buttons  off  his  knickerbock- 
ers in  the  descent,  and  turning  a  complete  somersault 
over  Blot,  which  brought  him  up  in  a  state  of  bewilder- 
ment (Puck,  not  the  dog),  and  set  him  wondering  why 
he  never  could  accomplish  that  magnificent  feat  when 
he  wanted  to  astonish  Posy. 

Cato  found  the  tree  upon  which  Jim  had  begun  to  ex- 
periment, and  hacked  away  at  it  to  his  heart's  content, 
laying  in  a  goodly  array  of  knots.  It  was  great  fun  to 
watch  him  at  first,  but  after  a  while  Puck  grew  tired ;  he 
was  such  a  piece  of  perpetual  motion  that  he  never  was 
contented  with  anything  long.  Blot's  antics  were  the 
only  play  that  he  never  wearied  of,  and  to  these  he  now 
devoted  himself.  He  made  the  dog  perform  all  his  little 
tricks,  —  fetch  and  carry,  beg,  bark,  and  growl,  and  then 
he  began  to  run  races  with  him.  Each  race  carried  the 
pair  a  little  further  from  Cato,  until  at  last  they  were 
quite  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and,  being  tired  out,  the 
playmates  sat  down  to  rest. 

"  Tired,  Blot  ?  "  said  Puck,  panting  and  puffing  him- 
self. 

Blot  thumped  his  tail  affirmatively,  then  pricked  up 
his  ears,  glared  with  droll  fierceness  into  the  underbrush, 
and  gave  a  low  growl. 

"  What  is  you  looking  at  ?  "  demanded  Puck.  "  Don't 
s'pose  there  's  any  snakes  wound  here.  Wish  I  had  a 
tame  snake  ;  wouldn't  I  fwighten  Posy." 


CAPTAIN   REX.  245 

Blot  gave  another  sniff,  j  umped  up  suddenly,  and  then 
began  to  bark. 

"  There  ain't  anybody  round  'cept  Cato,"  said  Puck, 
who  held  regular  conversations  with  Blot,  and  firmly  be- 
lieved that  the  dog  understood  all  he  said.  "  'Tain't  a 
musk-wat  —  'cause  there  ain't  nothiii'  but  bushes.  Blot, 
you  must  learn  to  walk  on  your  hind  legs,  like  that  dog 
Miss  Daisy  tells  about  that  b'longed  to  the  soldier  in 
Philadelphia.  Wonder  how  you'd  look  dressed  up  like  a 
soldier  ?  I'll  get  Miss  Daisy  to  make  you  a  blue  coat 
an'  jacket  —  le'  me  see,"  meditatively:  "  I  don't  know 
what  kind  of  jackets  Union  soldiers  wear.  I've  never 
seen  any  but  gway  ones  like  Harry  Peyton's." 

Blot,  whom  he  had  been  holding  by  his  fore  paws  dur- 
ing this  soliloquy,  now  made  a  frantic  struggle  to  get 
away,  and  a  voice  just  over  Puck's  head  said,  faintly,  but 
with  a  mirthful  sound  in  it,  — 

"  Shut  your  eyes  tight  for  a  minute  ;  then  open  them, 
and  I'll  show  you  a  blue  jacket." 

Puck  gave  a  bounce  off  his  stone  and  looked  behind 
him.  An  arm  was  parting  the  thicket,  and  above  it  was 
a  pale  face  and  long  brown  mustache  surmounted  by  a 
dirty  bandage  which  partially  covered  a  crop  of  chestnut 
curls.  Blot,  like  the  sensible  dog  he  was,  had  ceased 
barking  the  instant  the  stranger  spoke,  and  in  another 
moment  a  tall  young  man  in  a  blue  uniform  sat  down  by 
Puck's  side. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  "  gasped  Puck,  with 
round-eyed  amazement. 

"  Out  of  the  swamp,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I'm  very 
hungry  and  thirsty  ;  can  you  tell  me  if  there  is  a  spring 
anywhere  about  here  ?  " 

"Nothin'  neawer   than   the  fwog   pond,"   said   Puck 


246  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

gravely.  "  An'  that  's  dwied  up.  I  guess "  —  very 
cautiously,  and  edging  off  a  little  as  if  afraid  of  the  con- 
sequences of  his  remark  —  "I  guess  you're  a  wunaway 
soldier,  eh  ?  " 

"What  if  I  am?  what  would  you  do?"  asked  the 
stranger,  with  an  amused  face. 

"Soldiers  never  should  wun,"  said  Puck,  severely. 
"  That  's  what  Aunt  Debby  said.  An'  Harry  Peyton 
said  that  only  Yankees  did  —  my  !  wasn't  she  mad  ?  " 
and  he  forgot  the  rest  of  his  speech  in  the  recollection  of 
Aunt  Debby 's  wrath. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  said  the  stranger  presently. 

"  Two  or  three  miles  off,  over  that  way,"  said  Puck, 
pointing  over  his  shoulder  to  indicate  the  direction.  "  If 
you'll  come  with  me  I'll  get  sumpin'  for  you  to  eat ; 
weckon  Uncle  Cato  bwinged  some  lunch.  He  mos'  always 
does." 

"  Who  dat  talking  to  li'le  massa  ?  "  said  an  anxious 
voice  beside  the  pair.  It  was  Cato,  who  had  come  softly 
over  the  grass,  looking  for  his  mischievous  charge. 

"  I  was  asking  this  little  fellow  where  I  could  find 
something  to  eat  and  drink,"  said  the  soldier.  Cato's 
suspicious  face  changed  as  he  saw  the  blue  uniform  ;  his 
hat  was  in  his  hand  and  he  was  bowing  with  great  defer- 
ence. 

"  Massa  is  one  of  de  Lincum  sogers,  eh  ?  Where  did 
you  come  from,  massa  ?  Dis  yer  's  a  bery  bad  neighbor- 
hood ;  eberybody  secesh  'bout  hyar." 

"  I  came  from  a  swamp  over  in  that  direction,  where  I 
spent  last  night,"  said  the  soldier,  pointing  across  the 
hedge. 

"  Laws !  Dat  de  bery  wosse  place  ob  de  lot,  sar ;  dat 's 
Cunel  Richards',  where  dey  keep  de  hounds,  black  debils 


CAPTAIN   REX.  247 

fur  huntin'  de  pore  nigga  and  de  'scaped  prisoners. 
Massa  ain't  one  ob  dem,  for  sure  ?  " 

"  I  won't  say  much  about  myself,  my  friend,  for  fear 
you  might  be  questioned,"  said  the  soldier;  "  I  know  you 
darkies  are  to  be  trusted ;  the  day  before  yesterday  a 
negro  gave  me  my  breakfast.  I  was  wounded  in  the 
head  as  you  see,"  touching  his  bandage,  "  and  it  wants 
doctoring." 

"  An'  here  I  am,  like  an  old  fool,  talkin',  while  massa 
is  getting  hungrier,"  said  Cato,  recollecting  the  stranger's 
first  request.  "  Le'  me  help  you  'long  sar;  if  you'll  take 
dis  chile's  arm  and  kinder  hobble  over  yonder  where  de 
cart  is,  dere  's  some  hoe-cake  and  apple  pie  dar,  an' 
you  's  'tirely  welcome  to  my  share,  sar." 

Puck  ran  ahead  with  Blot  in  a  high  state  of  excite- 
ment. What  an  adventure  this  would  be  to  tell  Posy 
and  Miss  Daisy.  How  glad  he  was  that  he  came  after 
pine-knots  this  morning,  as  it  had  afforded  him  a  sight  of 
a  real,  live  Yankee  soldier. 

Cato  looked  carefully  around  to  make  sure  that  there 
were  no  intruders,  and  then  helped  the  soldier  into  the 
cart,  and  sat  down  to  watch.  The  young  man  ate  as  if 
he  was  half-famished,  but  after  the  first  few  bites,  the 
food  seemed  to  make  him  faint  and  ill,  for  he  leaned  back 
against  the  side  of  the  cart  and  motioned  for  a  drink  of 
some  currant  shrub  which  Cato  had  luckily  brought  along. 
In  turning  his  head  suddenly,  the  soldier  knocked  the 
pole  which  supported  the  covering  of  the  cart,  and,  to 
Cato's  dismay,  and  Puck's  infinite  terror,  the  wound  on 
his  head  began  to  bleed  violently. 

"  My  gwacious,  Cato,  he'll  be  dead  wight  off,"  cried 
Puck,  frightened  almost  to  death  at  the  sight  of  the  blood 
trickling  down  the  young  man's  ghastly  face. 


248  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  You  jes'  hold  on  dat  ar  mighty  tight,"  said  Cato,  for- 
getting his  customary  respect,  and  seizing  hold  of  the 
dirty  bandage.  "  We'll  haf  'em  in  a  minute,  massa. 
Hi !  never  saw  nuffin  bleed  like  dat  ar  ;  better  be  spry, 
for  sure." 

He  pulled  out  his  red  bandana  handkerchief  as  he 
spoke,  and  tried  to  stanch  the  blood  with  it ;  but  in  a  few- 
seconds  it  burst  out  again,  and  Cato  was  in  dismay  as  he 
saw  by  the  pallid  lips  and  difficult  breathing  of  his  patient 
that  he  must  have  assistance. 

"  Dis  never  do,"  cried  he.  "  Miss  Debby,  she  know, 
for  sure,  what  to  do.  I'll  haf  to  take  you  to  our  house, 
massa,  or  if  dat  ain't  safe,  to  dis  nigga's  cabin  and  let 
ole  Cl'rinda  tend  to  you.  Massa  Puck,  your  li'le  hands 
mus'  do  de  driving  ;  Cato'll  haf  to  see  to  dis  ar  hisself." 

Puck  was  nothing  loth  to  play  charioteer,  so  he  climbed 
out  in  front  and  slapped  the  horse  with  the  reins  in  a 
very  important  manner,  while  Cato  made  his  patient  lean 
back  against  him  and  hold  one  end  of  the  bandage  while 
he  held  the  other  as  firmly  as  possible.  But  every  jolt 
brought  a  pang  with  it,  and  as  they  drove  around  to  the 
back-door  of  the  house  (after  a  long  twenty  minutes, 
which  seemed  like  hours  to  Cato),  the  soldier  turned 
even  more  ghastly  white  than  before,  and  lay  senseless  in 
the  negro's  arms. 

Marjorie  happened  to  be  in  the  kitchen  with  Aunt 
Debby,  engaged  in  "  doing  over  "  some  jelly,  and  she 
had  just  gone  out  to  the  door  to  bring  in  some  jelly- 
pots  which  Chloe  had  set  in  the  sun  to  dry,  when  the 
cart  drove  up. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Why,  Cato,  who  in  the  world 
have  you  got  there  ?  "  said  she,  almost  dropping  the  jelly- 
pots  in  her  surprise  at  the  appearance  of  the  blood-stained 
stranger. 


CAPTAIN  REX.  249 

**  Dunno,  missy  ;  spects  it 's  one  of  Massa  Lincum's 
sogers,  de  Lord's  own  people  for  setting  de  slaves  free. 
Where  's  Miss  Debby  ?  —  lie  's  very  bad  "  — 

"  My  stars  !  Here,  Jim  !  "  ejaculated  Aunt  Debby, 
flying  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  upsetting  three  pots  of 
jelly  in  her  hasty  exit.  "  Jump  right  into  the  cart,  and 
help  Cato  lift  that  young  man  out.  Bring  him  straight 
up  —  where  's  Dora  ?  "  with  sudden  anxiety,  as  she  saw 
the  blue  uniform. 

"  Gone  to  see  Missy  Belle,  an'  won't  be  home  till  tea," 
chimed  in  Silvy,  at  her  elbow,  her  eyes  starting  half  out 
of  their  sockets  at  the  apparition  carried  past  her  in  Jim's 
and  Cato's  arms. 

"Thank  goodness!"  in  a  relieved  tone.  "Take  him 
right  up  into  the  little  room  off  mine,  quick.  Silvy, 
take  Puck,  and  keep  him  with  Posy  in  the  back  kitchen 
until  I  send  for  them.  Daisy,  run  up  into  grandma's 
closet,  and  get  down  that  blue  box  on  the  second  shelf  — 
it 's  full  of  lint  and  bandages  —  and  bring  it  to  me." 

As  she  gave  these  rapid  orders,  Aunt  Debby  was  filling 
a  basin  with  water,  and  now  catching  up  a  sponge  which 
lay  on  the  kitchen  table,  and  unfastening  her  scissors 
from  her  belt  where  she  always  carried  them,  she  whisked 
down  the  hall  and  up  the  front  staircase  behind  her  pa- 
tient, as  fast  as  her  feet  could  carry  her,  while  Marjorie 
went  swiftly  up  to  find  the  lint  and  bandages. 


250  MABJORIE'S  QUEST. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CATO'S   GUEST. 

"  A  RE  you  fit  for  this  work,  child  ?  "  said  Aunt  Debby, 
•f^-  raising  her  head  and  eyeing  Marjorie  as  she  stood 
beside  her. 

The  bleeding  was  stanched  at  last,  and  Aunt  Debby 
was  free  to  think  of  some  one  else  beside  the  soldier,  who 
opened  his  blue  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Marjorie,  steadily.  She  had  been 
at  Aunt  Debby's  side  every  instant,  helping  in  a  deft, 
quiet  way  that  aroused  the  good  lady's  admiration. 

"  You've  good  stuff  in  you,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  ab- 
ruptly. "  He  's  coining  round.  Put  a  spoonful  of  that 
brandy  to  his  lips." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  faint  voice,  as  Marjorie  followed 
the  direction  she  had  received,  and  the  blue  eyes  glanced 
curiously  from  Aunt  Debby's  angular,  spare  face,  to  the 
child-like  one  which  bent  over  his  pillow. 

"  You  mustn't  talk  much,  though  I'm  free  to  confess 
that  I'd  like  to  ask  you  a  few  questions.  I  see  yours  in 
your  eyes  :  you  want  to  know  where  you  are.  Well, 
we're  good  Union  people  in  this  house  ;  make  your  mind 
easy.  The  blacks  are  faithful,  most  of  'em  old  servants. 
It 's  no  ways  likely  that  you'll  be  set  upon  by  the  seces- 
sionists, for  we're  a  family  of  Friends,  and  are  principled 
against  fighting.  And  you'll  have  to  make  up  your  mind 
to  stay  here  till  that  head  gets  better.  If  it 's  not  im- 
pertinent, I'd  like  to  know  your  name ;  I  am  Deborah 
Frost." 


CATO'S   GUEST.  251 

A  mirthful,  twinkling  smile  crept  into  the  soldier's  eyes 
as  Aunt  Debby's  crisp  sentences  came  forth  in  her  odd, 
quick  way. 

"  My  name  is  —  you  may  call  me  Captain  Rex,"  said 
he.  "  Not  that  I  do  not  trust  you,"  added  he,  hastily, 
seeing  the  gleam  of  incredulity  in  Miss  Debby's  eye, 
"  but  I  am  so  fearful  of  getting  any  one  into  trouble. 
And  that  is  truly  a  part  of  my  name,  —  you'll  forgive  me 
for  not  giving  the  last  half  of  it  ?  " 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Aunt  Debby,  surveying  him.  "  When 
I  was  a  girl,  '  Rex '  meant  '  King '  in  my  Latin  grammar, 
and  like  as  not  it  stands  for  the  same  thing  now.  You're 
right,  young  man,  and  have  more  sense  in  that  cut  head 
of  yours  than  I  have  in  my  gray  one  —  I  sha'n't  ask  you 
another  word  about  it." 

"But  I  want  to  tell  you,"  began  he,  eagerly.  Aunt 
Debby  stopped  him. 

"  No,  you  don't  —  at  any  rate,  not  now.  You  will  eat 
a  little  chicken  soup  which  I'm  going  to  send  you,  and 
then  you  must  keep  perfectly  quiet  until  I  come  here 
again.  Cato,  you  stay  here  until  I  send  Silvy  up.  That 
bandage  looks  as  scientific  as  if  Doctor  Forsyth  himself 
had  put  it  on,"  giving  it  a  satisfied  pat.  "  A  precious 
good  doctor  was  spoiled  in  me.  Daisy,  in  half  an  hour 
you  come  in  and  give  him  a  teaspoonful  more  of  that 
brandy,"  and,  gathering  up  her  various  belongings,  Aunt 
.Debby  departed  to  superintend  the  chicken  broth  and  tell 
grandma  the  story  of  the  wounded  soldier  who  had  sought 
shelter  with  them. 

Marjorie  found  the  children  in  a  state  of  excitement ; 
Puck,  in  the  act  of  rehearsing  the  wounded  soldier  for 
Posy  by  tying  his  head  up  in  a  towel,  and  daubing  his 
rosy  face  with  soap  suds,  to  represent  blood. 


252  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Marjorie  took  possession  of  the  pair  of  rogues,  and  re- 
duced their  rampant  spirits  to  something  like  quietude  by 
telling  them  that  they  must  be  very  careful  what  they 
said  about  the  poor  young  gentleman. 

"  For  you  know,"  said  she,  "  that  there  are  many 
wicked  people  about  here  who  would  think  it  right  to 
bring  other  soldiers  and  drag  him  away  to  prison,  if  they 
knew  he  was  here  ;  and  so,  children,  you  must  be  very 
particular  not  to  say  a  word  about  what  has  happened." 

"  I'll  pwomise,  Miss  Daisy,"  said  Puck,  "  an'  then,  you 
know,  I  can't  tell,  if  I  want  to,  'cause  it  is  dwefful  to 
bwake  a  pwomise,  Aunt  Debby  says." 

"  That  would  be  bearing  false  witness,  me  dear,  and 
maybe  you'd  fall  down  dead  like  Ananias  and  Sapphira," 
said  Posy,  deeply  impressed.  "  Would  he,  Miss  Daisy  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,  I  think  not.  God  punishes  people  for  tell- 
ing wrong  stories  in  different  ways  now,"  said  Marjorie, 
who  knew  that  the  only  way  to  talk  to  these  droll  little 
people  was  to  meet  them  on  their  own  ground.  "  But 
I'm  glad  you  understand  the  value  of  a  promise.  I  can 
trust  you,  Posy  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  little  maid,  with  much  dignity. 
"  I  can  keep  a  promise  as  well  as  Puck,  if  I  am  ever  so 
much  younger." 

"  Very  well  ;  then  you  may  go  down  and  see  if  dinner 
is  nearly  ready,  and  don't  disturb  your  grandma." 

The  soldier  lay  with  his  blue  eyes  half  closed  as  Marjo- 
rie entered  his  room,  but  they  opened  at  the  first  sound 
of  her  low  voice. 

"  Better,  thank  you,"  said  he,  meeting  her  sympathiz- 
ing look  with  a  bright  smile.  "  I  am  only  weak  from  loss 
of  blood,  and  hunger.  I  was  wounded  in  the  battle  ot 
Opequan  Creek,  and  have  been  wandering  about  ever 


CATO'S   GUEST.  253 

since,  trying  to  get  back  on  the  '  debatable  ground,'  fear- 
ing to  fall  in  with  some  of  Early 's  men,  and  spend  an 
indefinite  period  in  a  rebel  prison." 

"  But  you  weren't  to  talk,"  said  Marjorie,  thinking 
that  the  lithe,  long  limbs,  and  broad  chest  betokened  great 
strength,  and  that  the  merry  smile  was  the  sweetest  she 
had  ever  seen,  except  one.  "  Uncle  Cato  hasn't  been 
doing  his  duty,  I  fear." 

"  Yes,  I  has,  missy,"  said  Cato,  affronted.  "  I'se  done 
all  de  talking  my  own  sef ,  dat  's  de  trufe.  'Spose  I'se  not 
goin'  to  let  de  young  marster  know  what  sort  of  folks 
he  's  fallen  in  with,  eh  ?  We  ain't  none  of  yer  pore  white 
trash,  but  a  'spectable  Quaker  family,  one  of  de  fust  in 
Pennsylvany." 

"  Then  continue  to  do  all  the  talking,"  said  Marjorie, 
with  such  a  winning  glance  that  Cato  was  mollified.  "Is 
there  anything  more  that  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

The  soldier  thanked  her,  and  begged  for  the  chicken 
broth,  and  she  went  away  to  ask  Aunt  Debby  about  it. 

But  Captain  Rex  was  restless  after  that,  and  Cato 
found  that  his  stories  of  the  family  grandeur  did  not  meet 
with  as  strict  attention  as  he  desired. 

The  girl's  gentle  fa.ee  haunted  Reginald  Gray  ;  if  he 
closed  his  eyes,  it  danced  before  him  tantalizingly,  and 
when  he  opened  them  he  saw  her  still.  Whom  did  she 
resemble  ?  Where  had  he  seen  her  before  ? 

But  she  did  not  come  back  that  night.  The  only  other 
visitor  whom  he  had  was  Aunt  Debby,  who  came  in  at 
twilight,  and,  having  made  sure  that  the  head  was  doing 
nicely,  sat  down  by  his  side  for  a  chat. 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  you,"  said  she,  "  and 
grandma  and  I  have  talked  the  matter  over.  We  can't 
let  you  go  away  at  present,  but  an  unknown  guest  is  a 


254  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

suspicious  individual  in  these  times,  to  some  of  our  neigh- 
bors. So  I'm  going  to  spirit  those  clothes  of  yours  away," 
nodding  significantly  at  the  uniform  hanging  over  a  chair, 
"  and  give  you  a  suit  of  Reuben's,  none  the  worse  for 
wear,  which  hangs  up-stairs  in  the  clothes-press.  It's 
not  a  Friend's  dress,  so  you  won't  feel  awkward  in  it. 
And  I  mean  to  give  out  that  you're  a  relation  from  the 
North  —  (Boston  won't  do  ;  that 's  too  abolition)  —  say 
from  NCAV  York.  If  anybody  asks  me,  I  mean  ;  I  sha'n't 
tell  any  unnecessary  lies." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be  obliged  to  tell  any  on  my  ac- 
count," said  Captain  Rex,  unable  to  help  smiling. 

"  Well,  you  see,  I'm  not  sure  but  I've  got  a  weak  one 
in  the  camp,"  said  she.  "  It 's  my  niece." 

"  Not  that  young  girl  whom  you  called  Daisy  ?  "  said 
Captain  Rex,  with  a  startled  face. 

"  Bless  you,  no  !  She  's  one  of  the  right  sort.  My 
niece  Dora  was  fortunately  out  of  the  house  when  you 
came  into  it,  and,  as  luck  Avill  have  it,  only  got  back  five 
minutes  ago.  I'm  thankful  that  she  didn't  bring  that 
hot-headed  Harry  Peyton  with  her.  The  fat  would  have 
been  in  the  fire,  then.  I  am  afraid  to  trust  her.  She  's 
had  her  silly  head  turned  by  a  parcel  of  Confederate  offi- 
cers whom  she  met  down  in  Richmond,  and  she'd  be  bit- 
ter enough  against  the  Union,  only  she  don't  quite  dare 
to  before  her  grandma  and  me.  And  you'd  best  be  care- 
ful when  she  's  round  —  that 's  all !  " 

"  But,  my  dear  lady,  with  all  thanks  for  your  kindness, 
I  think  there  is  too  much  danger  attending  my  stay — dan- 
ger to  you,  I  mean.  If  I  can  rest  for  a  day  more  I  think  I 
should  be  able  to  go  on ;  it  cannot  be  many  miles  to  Win- 
chester, unless  I  have  wandered  very  far  out  of  the  way." 

"  It 's  twenty  odd  miles  by  the  road,"  said  Aunt  Debby, 


CATO'S   GUEST.  255 

resolutely,  "  and  you  ain't  any  more  fit  for  such  a  tramp 
than  a  six-months-old  baby.  Don't  you  fret  about  the 
danger  ;  I'll  look  out  for  that,  and  if  I  see  any  signs  of  a 
muss  I'll  promise  to  send  you  off.  I  have  a  friend  beyond 
Deepwater  Run  where  you  can  go,  in  case  of  emergencies. 
Good-night ;  Cato  will  sleep  on  the  sofa,  and  my  room  is 
the  other  side  of  that  door.  Mind  you're  careful  about 
Dora  —  you  may  talk  to  Daisy  and  welcome." 

"  Is  she  another  niece  ?  "  asked  Captain  Rex,  detain- 
ing her. 

"  She  's  the  children's  governess,  and  no  relation,"  said 
Aunt  Debby,  curtly,  as  she  closed  the  door. 

Dora  was  sitting  before  her  glass,  taking  down  her  hair, 
as  Aunt  Debby  entered. 

"  What 's  all  this  that  Silvy  says  about  some  strange 
young  man,  who  came  here  to-day  ?  "  said  she,  before 
Aunt  Debby  had  time  to  open  her  lips. 

"  O,  she  told  you,  did  she  ?  "  said  Aunt  Debby,  feel- 
ing that  it  would  be  a  relief  to  shake  Silvy  for  her  indiscre- 
tion. "Yes.  A  friend  of  ours,  from  New  York.  Some- 
how, he  got  hurt  in  the  head  and  he  's  laid  up  for  the 
present. 

"  What 's  his  name  ?  "  said  Dora;  "  seems  to  me  it 's  a 
mighty  queer  time  for  civilians  to  be  coming  down  here." 

"Mr.  King,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  feeling  thankful  that 
she  could  give  a  reply  which  she  believed  to  be  the  truth. 

"  O,  one  of  those  Kings  that  grandma  is  forever  talk- 
ing of,"  said  Dora.  "  I  didn't  know  but  it  might  be  a 
spy  of  some  sort.  Harry  Peyton  was  telling  me  that  he 
received  notification  to-day  of  the  escape  of  a  very  danger- 
ous one,  and  that  a  troop  of  mounted  horse  were  scouring 
the  country  for  the  man." 

"  He  can  just  keep  his  mounted  horse  away  from  this 


256  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

house,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  feeling  quite  absolved  for  the 
untruths  she  had  been  guilty  of,  at  this  unwelcome  intel- 
ligence. "  Now,  Dora,  do  be  up  to  breakfast  to-morrow, 
for  I  shall  have  my  hands  full,  and  you  do  hinder  so,  com- 
ing down  late,  and  keeping  the  table  standing." 

Dora  laughed ;  and  Aunt  Debby  went  off  to  consult 
Marjorie,  and  was  relieved  to  learn  from  her  that  the 
children  had  been  tutored.  For  the  little  people  had  been 
so  carefully  trained  that  she  knew  their  promise  was 
sacred ;  and  feeling  secretly  uneasy  about  Dora,  and  re- 
solving to  keep  her  guest  out  of  Harry  Peyton's  way, 
Aunt  Debby  retired,  after  kissing  Marjorie  good  night. 

For  two  days  Captain  Rex  kept  his  room  by  Aunt 
Debby's  advice,  but  on  the  third  morning,  as  Dora  came 
languidly  into  the  west  parlor  where  grandma  sat,  she 
saw  a  tall  figure  lounging  in  the  corner,  with  Puck  and 
Posy  at  either  elbow. 

"My  grand-daughter,  Dora,  Friend  King,"  said  Grand- 
ma Frost,  placidly.  The  gentleman  rose,  and  despite  his 
disfiguring  bandage,  Dora  exclaimed  to  herself,  "  O ! 
what  a  handsome  man,"  as  he  bowed  pleasantly. 

Reginald  Gray  was  as  mischievous  as  our  old  friend 
Regie  had  been,  and  he  was  secretly  much  amused  with 
the  airs  and  graces  which  Dora  proceeded  to  play  off  on 
him.  He  wished  that  the  little  governess  would  make 
her  appearance  ;  he  had  not  seen  her  since  that  night 
when  he  came. 

Puck  had  shown  off  all  Blot's  tricks  to  his  new  friend, 
and  Posy,  not  to  be  behind  in  attention,  had  conducted 
her  family  of  dolls  down-stairs,  and  was  performing  the 
several  introductions,  which  Captain  Rex  received  with 
the  utmost  gravity. 

"  This  is  Lily  Rose,"  said  Posy,  displaying  a  doll  with 


CATO'S   GUEST.  257 

an  unfortunate  fracture  in  its  left  cheek;  "  and  this  one 
is  called  Rose  Violet." 

Captain  Rex  admired  the  young  lady,  and  inquired  what 
accident  had  disfigured  poor  Lily  Rose. 

"  I  jumped  off  the  bureau  one  day  and  fell  wight  on 
her  head,"  explained  Puck.  "  Posy  cwied,  more  'an  Lily 
Wose  did,  and  I  saved  up  all  my  money  and  branged  her 
another  from  the  store  at  Deep  water  Wun." 

"  Yes  ;  wasn't  he  a  good  brother?  "  said  Posy.  "  This 
is  the  one." 

"  Belvidewa,"  said  Puck. 

"  It 's  not,"  said  Posy,  forgetting  her  customary  polite- 
ness, and  flatly  contradicting  him.  "  Her  name 's  Sera- 
phina,  'cause  you  went  and  baptized  her  '  Elijah  the  Tish- 
bite,'  and  Miss  Daisy  said  she  could  have  a  nickname,  and 
she  called  her  Seraphina,  after  a  doll  she  had  'long  time 
ago  when  she  was  a  little  girl — so  now,  me  dear.  Didn't 
you,  Miss  Daisy  ?  " 

Marjorie  was  entering  the  room  with  a  plate  of  some 
delicious  compound  (the  secret  of  which  was  only  known 
to  Aunt  Debby)  for  their  guest,  and  the  light  from  the 
open  window  fell  full  upon  her  sweet  face.  Swift  as  light- 
ning, Reginald  Gray's  thoughts  flew  back  to  just  such  a 
pair  of  pathetic,  child's  eyes  ;  Posy's  last  speech  had  struck 
the  chord  he  had  been  vainly  seeking  for  in  his  memory, 
and  the  color  rushed  into  his  pale  cheeks  as  he  said  to 
himself,  "  Her  very  image  !  can  it  be  my  little  Madge  ?  " 

"  Did  I  what  ?  "  said  Marjorie,  as  Posy  caught  hold  of 
her  hand.  "  Take  care,  you'll  upset  me." 

"  Didn't  you  say  my  doll  should  be  Seraphina,  and 
didn't  you  have  one  of  your  own  named  so,  when  you 
were  a  little  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Marjorie,  the  sober  shade  coming  over  her 

17 


258  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

face  which  always  stole  there  when  her  childhood  was 
mentioned. 

"  Posy  is  fond  of  high-sounding  names,"  said  Dora,  as 
Marjorie  set  down  her  plate  before  Captain  Rex. 

"  Miss  Daisy  seems  to  have  been,  also,"  said  he,  look- 
ing keenly  at  her  as  she  stood  beside  him. 

"  Seraphina  was  the  only  doll  I  ever  had  that  I  can  re- 
member," said  she,  modestly. 

"  When  you  were  very  little  ?  "  said  he,  with  a  persist- 
ency that  made  Dora  wonder. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  beg  your  pardon,"  becoming  rosy 
red,  and  feeling  strangely  embarrassed  under  the  steady 
gaze  of  his  blue  eyes ;  "  I  think  I  must  have  been  very 
ill  when  I  was  a  child,  for  I  can  remember  so  little  of  my- 
self at  that  time — the  time  when  I  had  Seraphina." 

"  I  suppose  you  had  to  depend  on  the  recollection  of 
older  people,"  said  he,  his  heart  beating  faster,  as  every 
word  she  uttered  seemed  to  bring  his  little  playmate  be- 
fore him. 

"  I  had  not  even  that  —  I  am  an  orphan,"  she  said, 
with  a  gentle  dignity  that  closed  the  subject  for  the 
present. 

But  he  watched  her,  as  she  sat  at  her  sewing  in  the 
window,  a  little  out  of  the  circle,  but  taking  part  in  the 
conversation  whenever  she  was  appealed  to,  with  a  modest 
ease  that  was  very  charming  contrasted  with  Dora's  airs. 
It  was  the  same  face  he  said  to  himself ;  he  knew  now 
why  his  imperfect  glimpses  of  it  had  haunted  him.  She 
did  not  remember  him  —  how  could  that  be  accounted  for 
—  he  wished  that  there  was  a  piano  here  to  try  the  effect 
of  playing  the  Prayer  she  had  been  so  fond  of.  Perhaps 
she  would  recollect  him  when  he  got  this  bandage  off ;  he 
tugged  at  it  impatiently  as  the  thought  crossed  his  mind, 


CATO'S   GUEST.  259 

and  then  called  himself  a  fool  for  building  such  a  mag- 
nificent air-castle  from  what  might  be  only  a  marvel- 
ously  strong  chance-resemblance. 

"  Li'le  Missy  Daisy,  Chloe  says  will  you  please  look  at 
dem  fritters,"  said  Cato,  coming  in  waiter  in  hand,  and 
evidently  being  about  to  lay  the  cloth  for  dinner. 

"  Fritters  ?  "  said  Aunt  Debby,  looking  up.  "  What 
is  Chloe  thinking  about.  Sit  still,  Daisy  ;  I'll  go." 

"  Law's,  'tain't  for  Miss  Debby,"  said  Cato,  doggedly. 
"It 's  sumpin'  for  li'le  missy,  for  sure,  an  Chloe  won't  be 
no  ways  obligated  for  making  nobody  else  go  out  in  de 
kitchen." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  "  I'll  go  and  see." 

But  Cato  did  not  follow  her. 

"If  li'le  missy  pleases,"  said  he,  with  a  beseeching 
glance  at  Marjorie,  "  dare  's  de  yellow  china,  an  'de  pink, 
and  I  dunno  which  looks  bestis  —  would  Missy  Daisy 
come  and  see  ?  " 

"  What 's  got  into  you,  Cato,"  said  Dora,  sharply,  as 
Marjorie  rose  with  a  smile  at  the  old  man's  persistency. 
"  Like  as  not  he  's  broken  something  and  is  afraid  to  tell 
grandma." 

"  See  here,  missy,"  said  Cato,  getting  Marjorie  safely 
into  the  dining-room,  and  peering  carefully  around  to  see 
that  no  one  overheard  him.  "  You'se  'cuse  me  for  bring- 
in'  you  way  out  hyar  —  I'se  done  tired  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  speak  to  you." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Marjorie,  kindly.  Cato 
drew  a  step  nearer,  and  said,  in  a  frightened  whisper. 

"  De  young  master  in  dere  isn't  de  only  Lincum  soger 
in  dis  yer  place,  missy.  Cato  hab  one  all  to  hisself ,  down 
in  his  li'le  cabin." 

"  Another  ?  "  ejaculated  Marjorie. 


260  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Yes,  missy.  Bery  strange  man,  Cato  dunno  what  to 
do  'bout  him.  He  come  de  night  before  las'  an'  he  hab  a 
fit,  or  sumpin'  dat  kind,  an'  frighten  Cato  and  pore 
Cl'rinda  mos'  to  deff .  Den  he  gets  better,  but  he  awful 
scared  for  fear  ob  de  sogers.  He  talk  kinder  wild,  like, 
an'  says  every  man's  hand  is  ag'inst  him  ;  I  tink  he 's  not 
quite  right  in  de  head.  Cl'rinda  an'  me,  we 's  done  puz- 
zled ;  dunno  what  to  do  wid  him,  missy,  no  more  dan  de 
dead." 

*'  Can't  you  get  him  away,  Cato  ?  " 

"  I'se  afeard,  missy.  De  rebels  is  roun'  bery  fierce,  I 
hear,  an'  we  's  can't  turn  de  man  into  de  hands  ob  de 
Philistines." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  Miss  Debby  ?  "  said  Marjorie. 
"  She  can  tell  you  a  great  deal  better  than  I  what  to  do." 

"I'se  comin'  to  dat,  missy.  De  soger  he  make  Cato 
swar  dat  he  not  tell  nobody  ob  his  bein'  hyar,  an'  Cato 
done  promised  —  can't  break  his  word.  But  las'  night, 
when  li'le  missy  came  down  to  Jim's  cabin  to  see  'bout  de 
sick  baby,  de  soger,  he  seen  missy  as  she  was  passing  by. 
He  mos'  had  anuder  fit.  Says  he,  'Who  dat  girl — where 
she  come  from  ?  '  —  eyes  mos'  starting  out  of  his  head.  I 
tole  him  dat  was  Missy  Daisy  from  de  Norf,  de  gubber- 
ness  to  Massa  Puck,  and  li'le  Posy,  an'  he  ask  all  sorts  ob 
questions  'bout  you,  missy.  An'  he  want  to  see  you." 

"  To  see  me  ?  "  echoed  Marjorie,  in  great  surprise. 
"  What  should  he  want  to  see  me  for  ?  " 

"  Dunno  ;  he  mighty  funny  man,  dat's  de  trufe.  He 
call  Cato  bery  early  dis  morning,  an'  he  say  dat  I  mus' 
go  and  tell  li'le  missy  dat  she  mus'  come  an'  see  'im. 
'  Tell  her  dat  I'll  make  it  worth  de  while,'  says  he ; 
'  dat  I  can  tell  her  'bout  her  fadder.'  " 

Marjorie  started  violently ;  the  blood  rushed  into  her 
face  in  a  crimson  tide. 


CATO'S   GUEST.  261 

"  My  father  \  O,  Cato,  do  you  think  he  spoke  the 
truth  ?  Do  you  think  he  knows  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell,  missy  ?  "  said  Cato,  astonished  at  the 
effect  of  his  message.  "  He  a  mighty  queer  man  —  de 
debbil,  I  tink." 

"  Was  that  what  he  said,"  continued  Marjorie,  in  great 
agitation,  "  that  he  could  tell  me  about  my  father  ?  " 

"  For  true,  missy,  dat  's  what  he  say,  two,  free  times." 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Marjorie,  turning  to  the  door. 

"  Stop,  stop,  missy ;  you  can't  go  now.  Mus'  wait  and 
let  Cato  take  you  after  tea  ;  mus'n't  let  de  oder  niggas 
know  dat  Cato  hab  a  man  in  de  cabin  to  see  li'le  missy." 

"  Well,  then,  Cato,  I  will  wait  "- 

"  An'  mus'n't  say  nuffin  to  Miss  Debby,"  said  Cato, 
hurriedly,  as  that  lady  appeared  in  the  door  with  a  demand 
whether  dinner  was  not  almost  ready. 

Dora,  underneath  all  her  affectation,  possessed  a  good 
deal  of  cunning  and  shrewdness,  and  she  had  not  been 
more  than  half  deceived  with  Aunt  Debby's  account  of 
the  handsome  stranger,  who  had  come  among  them  so  un- 
expectedly. Grandma's  placid  matter-of-course  treatment 
of  their  guest  did  much  toward  laying  her  suspicions,  but 
every  now  and  then  they  would  crop  up  again.  Captain 
Rex's  military  bearing  and  quick,  decided  manner  was 
totally  different  from  all  the  civilians  that  she  had  ever 
seen,  and  she  speedily  settled  it  in  her  own  mind  that  he 
had  been  in  the  army,  whether  he  was  now  or  not.  And 
unconsciously,  he  gave  her  great  offense  by  his  apparent 
interest  in  Marjorie.  Try,  as  he  did,  to  keep  the  look  of 
watchfulness  out  of  his  eyes  whenever  they  rested  on  the 
little  governess,  he  could  not  wholly  banish  it ;  she  was  in 
his  thoughts  most  of  the  time.  Dora  knew  nothing  of  the 
problem  that  he  was  trying  to  solve,  and  very  naturally 


262  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

concluded  that  he  was  bewitched  with  the  dove-like  eyes 
and  the  simplicity  which  Harry  Peyton  had  also  admired. 
And  it  made  her  very  angry.  Absurd  as  it  may  seem, 
she  begrudged  the  passing  admiration ;  her  vanity  was  so 
overweening  that  she  was  not  willing  to  have  a  stray 
crumb  fall  to  Marjorie's  share. 

Marjorie  was  strangely  restless  all  that  afternoon. 
Her  cheeks  glowed  with  unusual  color,  and  there  was  a 
look  of  wistful  expectancy  in  her  face  which  Captain  Rex 
took  note  of.  He  tried  to  draw  her  into  a  conversation, 
but  the  effort  was  futile  until  Dora  left  the  room.  Then, 
under  one  pretext  or  another,  he  contrived  to  lessen  the 
shyness  under  which  Marjorie  had  taken  refuge,  and  with- 
out being  conscious  of  it,  she  was  beguiled  into  talking  of 
her  life  in  Philadelphia.  The  old  charm  began  to  exert 
itself  ;  Marjorie  wondered  why  the  pleasant  voice  seemed 
so  dreamily  familiar  and  whether  she  had  ever  heard  one 
like  it  before. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  New  York  ?  "  he  asked,  at 
last,  after  a  pause.  The  situation  of  things  was  too 
pleasant  to  be  disturbed;  so  Captain  Rex  asked  the 
question  merely  for  something  to  say. 

"  I  have  not  been  in  New  York  for  years,"  she  said, 
with  a  slight  shudder  which  the  recollection  of  old  Moll 
always  gave  her.  "  I  never  want  to  go  there  again." 

"  Indeed  !     May  I  ask  you  why  ?  "  he  said,  surprised. 

She  clasped  her  hands  against  her  breast  with  the  ges- 
ture he  remembered  instantly.  "  It  is  no  secret.  I  was 
a  poor  little  orphan  in  the  streets  of  New  York  when 
Mrs.  Randolph  found  me  ;  she  has  taken  care  of  me  and 
educated  me,  until  now.  I  am  taking  care  of  myself  at 
present,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  little  prideful  air  that  was 
pretty  to  see.  "  I  came  down  to  Virginia  as  a  governess, 
and  Puck  and  Posy  are  my  first  pupils." 


CATO'S   GUEST.  263 

"  You  deserve  the  greatest  credit,"  said  he,  warmly, 
with  difficulty  restraining  himself  from  proclaiming  his 
identity  on  the  spot,  so  sure  was  he  that  he  had  found 
the  child  whom  he  had  loved,  in  this  young  girl. 

She  had  only  time  to  give  him  a  glance  of  thanks  and 
pleasure  when  Aunt  Debby  whisked  into  the  room  in 
manifest  trepidation. 

"  Of  all  days  in  the  year,"  said  she,  in  subdued  tones, 
"  of  all  days  in  the  year  to  come ;  here 's  the  whole 
Peyton  crowd  coming  up  the  avenue,  and  there  's  enough 
gold  lace  around  to  be  a  dozen  rebel  officers.  Yes  ;  and 
as  for  you,  Mr.  King,  you  must  have  a  bad  turn  and  go 
to  bed,  for  all  I  see.  My  stories  may  impose  on  Dora, 
but  that  cut  head  of  yours  is  a  tell-tale,  if  there  's  any 
soldiers  in  the  way." 

Captain  Rex  looked  at  the  white  faces  before  him  and 
smiled.  "  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  he,  calmly ;  "  I 
am  well  enough  to  take  to  the  swamps  again  at  very 
short  notice,  but  just  now  there  does  not  seem  to  be  even 
time  enough  for  that." 

"  Up  the  kitchen  stairs,  Daisy,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  giving 
him  a  shove  in  that  direction.  "  I'll  run  up  to  Dora." 

"  Dora ! "  That  young  lady  faced  about  as  Aunt 
Debby's  sharp  voice  saluted  her ;  "  that  Peyton  crowd 
are  down-stairs  and  I  guess  they'll  stay  to  tea  —  anyway , 
they've  a  stranger  or  two  with  'em.  Mr.  King  's  had  a 
bad  turn ;  he  won't  be  down,  and  there'll  be  no  need  of 
an  extra  leaf  in  the  table." 

"  Mr.  King —  O  !  He  was  well  enough  half  an  hour 
ago,"  said  Dora,  with  a  look  that  meant  more  than  her 
words.  Aunt  Debby  marched  straight  up  to  her  and 
took  hold  of  her  slender  wrists  with  iron  fingers. 

"Dora   Lyndon,   I   see   you  think   you're   wonderful 


264  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

sharp,  but  mind  this;  you  keep  your  tongue  between 
your  teeth  before  those  friends  of  yours,  and  don't  prate 
about  what  doesn't  concern  you." 

The  door  slammed  behind  the  irate  spinster,  but  Dora 
shook  one  of  her  smarting  wrists  after  the  retreating 
figure  and  said  under  her  breath,  with  vindictive  empha- 
sis, "  I'll  pay  you  for  that,  ma'am,  and  in  a  way  that 
you'll  never  find  me  out,  too." 

Marjorie  came  down  from  escorting  Captain  Rex  to  his 
hiding  place  with  a  face  rather  paler  than  usual,  and 
found  the  Peyton  party  making  themselves  at  home  on 
the  piazza.  In  addition  to  the  Peytons  proper  (who 
numbered  five),  there  were  two  officers  wearing  the  Con- 
federate uniform,  and  evidently  belonging  to  the  cavalry, 
which  was  also  Harry  Peyton's  arm  of  the  service. 
Harry  had  mounted  his  uniform  again,  and  was  in  high 
spirits,  devoting  himself  more  to  Marjorie  than  was  at  all 
agreeable  to  her,  and  making  Dora  more  angry  than  ever 
thereby. 

The  strange  officers  were  Captain  Forsyth  and  Lieuten- 
ant Hayes,  and  the  latter  of  these  had,  Marjorie  thought, 
the  most  repelling  countenance  she  ever  had  seen,  with 
low  brows  and  gleaming  teeth,  and  cold,  snaky-looking 
eyes,  whose  pale  watery-blue  color  made  her  shiver.  And 
her  liking1  for  the  man  by  no  means  increased,  when  she 
learned,  by  the  conversation  at  the  tea-table  that  he  was 
the  commander  of  the  mounted  troop  who  were  scouring 
the  country  for  the  spy  whom  she  had  heard  Dora  men- 
tion a  few  days  before. 

"  He  's  a  pretty  clever  dodger,"  said  the  Lieutenant, 
describing  his  unsuccessful  hunt.  "  Twice  we've  come 
down  upon  a  house  just  an  hour  or  two  after  he  's  quitted 
it.  He  must  have  some  way  of  getting  around  the 


CATO'S   GUEST.  265 

niggers,"  —  suppressing  an  oath  just  in  time,  as  he  caught 
Aunt  Debby's  eye  fixed  severely  upon  him ;  "  but  from 
information  received  to-day  I  think  I'm  safe  in  saying 
we  can  lay  our  hands  on  him  shortly.  He'll  swing  for 
it,"  added  he,  with  a  chuckle ;  "  and  my  men  will  be 
ready  enough  to  pull  the  rope  in  return  for  the  dance  he 
has  led  them." 

"  Who  is  the  unhappy  man  against  whom  your  men 
have  such  a  spite  ?  "  demanded  Aunt  Debby. 

"His  name — or  his  alias  —  is  Rogers.  He  has  as 
many  disguises  as  there  are  days  in  the  week,  and  we 
have  reason  for  thinking  him  a  double-dyed  traitor." 

"  Is  thee  quite  sure  of  all  thee  says,  friend  ? "  said 
Grandma  Frost,  mildly.  "  I  would  counsel  thee  to  mod- 
eration if  thee  finds  the  man." 

Moderation  was  so  unlikely  a  virtue,  judging  by  Lieu- 
tenant Hayes'  ferocious  countenance,  that  Belle  and  Dora 
giggled,  and  even  Marjorie's  anxious  face  softened  into 
a  smile. 

From  Cato's  furtive  glances  at  the  officers  Marjorie 
saw  that  he  was  very  uneasy,  and  she  began  to  wonder 
how  she  should  get  away  from  the  company  and  pay  a 
visit  to  the  prisoner  in  the  cabin.  Fortune  favored  her, 
and  her  chance  came  at  last  in  the  shape  of  Posy's  being 
sleepy.  Puck  and  she,  of  late,  had  chosen  to  be  put  to 
bed  by  Marjorie  instead  of  Silvy,  and  to-night  she  was 
very  glad  of  the  excuse  which  their  fancy  afforded  her  to 
leave  the  room. 

"  Come  for  me  in  the  nursery  as  soon  as  it 's  safe," 
she  managed  to  say  to  Cato,  as  she  went  away. 

Both  the  little  heads  were  safely  on  their  respective 
pillows  when  there  came  a  cautious  tap,  and  Cato's  griz- 
zled head  came  in  at  the  door. 


266  MARJORIK'S  QUEST. 

"  All  ready,  missy ;  Silvy's  comin'  up  to  stay  with  de 
cliil'en,  an'  if  you'se  willin'  to  go  down  de  back-stairs  we 
can  get  to  de  cabin  in  a  jiffy.  Better  put  on  a  cloak,  or 
sumpin' ;  don't  want  nobody  to  see  dat  white  dress,  eh  ?  " 

Marjorie  agreed  in  the  wisdom  of  Cato's  counsel,  and 
wrapping  herself  in  a  plaid  shawl  of  Aunt  Debby's  which 
hung  in  the  nursery  closet,  she  followed  Cato  noiselessly 
down  the  stairs. 

"  Gi'  me  your  hand,  missy ;  I'se  afraid  you'll  stumble," 
said  Cato,  and  they  went  around  the  lower  end  of  the 
house  unobserved.  Cato's  cabin  was  not  very  far  away ; 
in  former  times  the  negro  quarter  of  the  Frost  plantation 
had  been  well  filled,  but  many  of  the  slaves  had  been 
sold  at  the  time  of  Reuben  Frost's  death,  and  a  large 
number  of  others  had  run  away  during  the  war,  and  now 
not  more  than  five  of  the  cabins  were  occupied. 

Into  the  largest  of  these  Cato  guided  Marjorie. 

"  Dat  you,  daddy  ?  "  said  a  bright-eyed  little  darky, 
uncurling  himself  from  the  step  where  he  had  been  asleep. 

"  What  you  doin'  out  hyar,  Sam ;  run  'long  to  yer 
mammy  an'  go  to  bed.  Dis  way,  missy ;  Cl'rinda  an' 
me  's  bery  glad  to  hab  a  call  from  you." 

Bowing  and  scraping,  Cato  led  Marjorie  through  the 
passage  until  Sam's  sharp  eyes  were  out  of  range  of  their 
proceedings,  and  then  he  turned  suddenly  aside  and  gave 
a  low  tap  on  a  small  door  at  the  left,  speedily  followed 
by  two  others. 

"It's  jest  me,  massa,"  said  he,  sticking  his  head 
inside,  with  the  utmost  caution.  "  If  de  shutters  is 
closed  I'll  light  de  candle." 

"  Is  there  any  one  with  you  ?  "  said  a  suppressed  whis- 
per from  the  farther  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Li'le  Missy  Daisy,  sar,"  said  Cato,  as  he  struck  a 
match  and  set  the  lighted  candle  on  the  table. 


I       '    ~^^^^^^^^^H 


<;  I:\TI, KMAN  Ronnv '  • 


CATO'S   GUEST.  267 

Marjorie  looked  eagerly  toward  the  place  from  whence 
the  sound  proceeded,  and  by  the  dim  light  she  saw  a  pair 
of  piercing  dark  eyes,  set  in  a  strangely  pallid  face,  sur- 
mounted by  long,  curling  masses  of  perfectly  white  hair 
which  hung  profusely  about  the  man's  neck.  She  gave  a 
step  forward ;  a  single,  low  exclamation  escaped  her,  — 

"  GENTLEMAN  RODDY  !  " 

If  the  face  before  her  could  have  become  whiter  she 
would  have  said  it  grew  so  then  as  the  man  fairly  jumped 
from  his  chair  and  approached  her. 

"  Who  called  me  that  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Marjorie,  recovering  herself  after  her 
first  fright.  "  I  remember  you,  although  you  do  not 
seem  to  recollect  me." 

"  If  missy  pleases,"  said  Cato,  interrupting  them,  "  I 
go  an'  watch  outside,  with  Cl'rinda.  An'  don't  stay  too 
long,  li'le  missy,  'cause  de  folks  might  miss  you." 

"  Where  did  you  ever  know  me  by  that  name  ?  "  said 
the  man,  slowly,  scanning  every  line  of  the  face  before 
him. 

"  Once,  when  I  was  a  wretched,  miserable  little  child, 
you  doctored  me  in  Randall's  Alley ;  do  you  remember 
the  child  who  lived  with  old  Mother  Moll  ?  " 

"  By  "  —  exclaimed  Gentleman  Roddy,  with  a  string  ; 
of  oaths.     "  Were  you  that  child  ?   If  I'd  only  known  it  . 
then  I'd  "  —  he  checked  himself.     It  would  hardly  do  to 
tell  her  that  he  thought  he  might  have  made  more  money 
out  of  her  then  than  he  could  now. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  suppose 
I  might  have  died  if  it  had  not  been  for  you  and  Nancy, 
and  twice  you  saved  me  from  a  beating." 

His  face  softened  a  little. 

"  So  you  remembered  that  all  these  years,  child  ?   Well, 


268  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

it 's  not  many  good  deeds  I've  done  in  my  life  —  I'm. 
glad  if  there  's  one  fit  to  be  remembered.  Well !  Have 
you  no  curiosity  to  know  why  I  sent  for  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  You  sent  me  word  that  you  could  tell  me  something 
of  my  father,"  she  burst  out  eagerly.  "  O,  sir,  can  you  ? 
It  is  the  one  hope  of  my  life  to  find  out  where  I  came 
from,  and  who  my  father  was." 

He  paused  a  moment ;  he  was  calculating  how  far  he 
might  tell  her  what  he  knew. 

"  I'm  in  danger  of  my  life  ;  at  any  moment  those 
hounds  may  descend  upon  me.  These  people  up  at  the 
house  are  friends  (so  the  old  negro  says),  and  are  not  the 
kind  to  betray  me.  If  you'll  send  me  to  a  safe  hiding 
place,  I'll  —  tell  you  what  I  suspect  is  the  truth  about 
you." 

"  But  how  can  I  ?  "  said  Marjorie,  her  lips  quivering; 
"  I  am  a  stranger  here  ;  I  know  nothing  of  the  country." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  know  of  your  childhood,"  said  the 
ruffian,  changing  his  tactics  abruptly. 

"  Hardly  anything,  before  the  time  when  I  was  ill  at 
old  Moll's.  I  remember  my  mother,  and  a  ship  which 
tossed  about,  and  a  man  named  Barney,  who  took  care 
of  me,  and  a  gentleman  with  beautiful,  kind  eyes,  who 
taught  me  a  funny  poem  about  Santa  Glaus  —  O  ! "  cried 
Marjorie,  with  pain  quivering  in  every  line  of  her  expres- 
sive face,  "  if  you  know  anything  about  me,  I  beg  and 
pray  you  to  tell  me.  Don't  be  so  cruel !  " 

"  You  look  like  your  mother  ;  that 's  the  way  I  recog- 
nized you.  A  bargain  's  a  bargain  ;  but  before  we  strike 
one,  just  tell  me  how  you  came  here." 

"  Mrs.  Randolph,  a  lady  in  Philadelphia,  adopted  me, 
and  her  father,  Mr.  Clive,  educated  me." 

Gentleman  Roddy  gave  another  exclamation,  —  "  Del. 


CATO'S   GUEST.  269 

tiem.  is  making  a  fool  of  me  !  I  had  forgotten  all  about 
that  night." 

Marjorie  looked  perfectly  bewildered,  and  then,  sud- 
denly remembering  what  Cato  had  said  about  his  visitor's 
odd  behavior,  she  turned  pale.  It  would  not  be  pleasant 
to  be  shut  up  in  a  room  with  a  maniac. 

"  Didn't  you  act  in  some  tableaux  at  Mr.  dive's  awhile 
ago  ? "  said  her  strange  companion.  "  Well,  I  was 
there." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  needn't  look  so  incredulous.  When  I'm 
dressed  up,  and  have  my  wig  on,  I  look  like  a  gentleman. 
Miss  —  (never  mind ;  one  of  youv  Philadelphia  girls) 
was  very  civil  to  Mr.  Rogers  that  night." 

"  Rogers,"  said  Marjorie,  suddenly;  "  are  you  the  man 
that  Lieutenant  Hayes  is  hunting  for  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  demanded  he,  seizing 
her  by  the  wrist,  fiercely. 

"  Nothing  —  let  go  my  hand."     The  door  opened. 

"  Mos'  ready,  li'le  missy  ?  "  said  Cato's  whisper. 

"  In  a  moment,"  said  Gentleman  Roddy.  Then  turn- 
ing to  Marjorie,  hurriedly,  —  "  The  case  lies  in  a  nutshell. 
You  can,  if  you  like,  go  up  to  the  house  and  expose  me 
to  that  officer  you  talk  about.  But  if  you  do,  I'll  not 
only  die  hard,  but  I  swear  I'll  die  holding  my  tongue. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  you'll  undertake  to  have  me  con- 
cealed for  three  days  somewhere,  at  the  end  of  that 
time  the  pursuit  will  be  over,  and  I  am  safe.  If  you'll 
do  this,  I  promise  to  give  you  intelligence  of  the  man 
that  I  think  is  your  father.  Mind,"  with  a  tardy  sort 
of  justice,  as  he  looked  at  the  delicate  girl  with  whom  he 
was  driving  such  a  hard  bargain,  "  I  don't  say  positively 
he  is  your  father,  for  I  can't  give  the  missing  links  for 


270  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

several  years  ;  but  I  think  that  I  probably  know  your 
parentage.  I  swear  you  are  the  living  image  of  a  lady 
that  I  suppose  was  your  mother." 

Marjorie  wrung  her  hands.  What  could  she  do? 
"  I  cannot  do  it  alone,"  she  whispered,  at  last.  "  If  I 
can  tell  Miss  Frost,  she  may  think  of  a  plan.  Early  to- 
morrow I  will  be  here.  Yes,  Cato,"  and  casting  a  glance 
of  pity  at  the  spy,  she  joined  Cato,  and  went  swiftly 
back  to  the  house.  In  her  own  room,  kneeling  by  the 
window,  her  wet  cheek  pressed  against  the  pane,  Aunt 
Debby  found  the  poor  child,  half  an  hour  later. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  what 's  all  this  about  ?  "  said  the  en- 
ergetic spinster,  as  the  light  from  the  candle  in  her  hand 
revealed  the  tear-stained  face.  "  Those  precious  folks  are 
going,  and  I  came  up  to  make  sure  that  our  guest  was  all 
right.  Who  's  been  plaguing  you  ?  " 

"  O,  Miss  Debby,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  great  sigh. 
"  I  am  in  such  trouble.  Tell  me  what  to  do." 

Aunt  Debby  sat  bolt  upright,  candle  in  hand,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  story  of  Cato's  visitor  with  a  countenance 
expressive  of  many  things.  Marjorie  poured  it  all  out  ; 
her  longing  and  belief  that  she  would  eventually  find 
her  father,  and  the  curious  hiatus  in  her  memory,  which 
made  her  story  sound  so  strangely  improbable. 

"  It 's  a  wonder  to  me  why  some  people  are  permitted 
to  live,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  indignantly.  "  That  man 
Rogers  ought  to  be  drowned  in  the  frog-pond  for  his  ras- 
cality. And  yet,  I  don't  see  but  he  's  got  the  best  of  it. 
Let  me  see  "  —  then  bringing  both  feet  together  with  an 
energetic  stamp  —  "  that 's  it !  I've  thought  of  a  plan. 
The  miserable  creature  shall  go  right  down  to  Cousin 
Lemuel  Hicks'  ;  it 's  the  safest  place  anywhere  about  for 
hiding.  Many  a  nigger  has  got  help  from  him  before 
now.  You  needn't  cry  one  bit  more,  Daisy ;  I'll  fix  it." 


CATO'S   GUEST.  271 

"  How  ?  "  said  Marjorie,  drawing  freer  breath,  and  feel- 
ing as  if  Aunt  Debby  was  a  full  fledged  angel,  with  an- 
gular cheek  bones. 

"  We'll  have  to  go  along,  for  all  I  can  see,  to  prevent 
suspicion  —  you  and  I  and  Posy.  I'll  dress  the  man  up 
in  a  Quaker  suit  of  drab,  and  we'll  take  Jim  and  the  two- 
seated  cart,  and  go  down  to  Cousin  Lemuel's  for  two 
days." 

"  What  will  be  done  with  Captain  "  — 

"  H-ush  !  Better  be  careful ;  the  walls  have  ears  ! 
I'll  leave  him  in  Cato's  care.  I  don't  see  how  he  can 
come  to  grief  as  long  as  we've  tided  him  over  to-night's 
inroad ;  I  declare,  my  heart  went  up  into  my  mouth, 
when  I  heard  that  scamp  talking  about  hanging,  at  the 
tea-table.  We'll  have  to  start  the  very  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  Daisy  ;  it 's  thirteen  miles  to  Cousin  Lemuel's, 
and  up-hill.  Hope  we  don't  run  foul  of  any  guerrillas 
on  the  way.  But  I  must  be  off  and  get  those  Quaker 
clothes  ;  ten  chances  to  one  they  won't  fit.  Then  I  should 
give  up." 

The  door  closed  after  her,  but  she  was  back  before  it 
had  hardly  shut. 

"  Do  you  mind  just  tapping  at  that  young  fellow's 
door,  and  seeing  how  he  is  ?  And  you  might  tell  him 
that  we  are  off  by  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  —  too  early 
for  him  to  be  stirring.  There  's  a  bowl  of  egg-nogg  on 
my  table  that  will  spoil  if  some  one  don't  drink  it ;  take 
that,  too." 

Marjorie  dried  her  eyes,  and  put  a  little  cologne  on  her 
face  to  efface  the  traces  of  tears ;  then  went  softly  up  the 
corridor,  through  Miss  Debby's  room,  to  Captain  Rex's 
door. 

"  A  friend,"  said  she,  softly,  as  she  tapped.  The  bolt 
was  drawn  in  a  moment. 


272  MARJORIE'S  QUKST. 

"  It 's  totally  dark  in  here,"  said  he,  smiling  at  her,  as 
she  stood  on  the  threshold.  "  Am  I  at  liberty  to  come 
out,  or  must  I  continue  to  play  the  sick  man  ?  " 

"  Take  care  ;  they  have  not  gone  yet,"  said  she,  hand- 
ing him  the  egg-nogg.  "  Miss  Debby  said  that  some  one 
must  drink  this  up  !  " 

"  All  of  it  ?  "  said  he,  eying  the  bowl  comically. 

"  If  you  please.  We  are  going  away  to-morrow  on  a 
secret  journey, —  Miss  Debby,  Posy,  and  I,  —  and  shall 
not  be  back  for  twenty-four  hours.  Cato  will  take  care 
of  you.  There  is  another  unlucky  prisoner  on  the  place 
beside  yourself,  and  we  propose  to  spirit  him  away." 

"  Can't  I  go,  too  ?  "  said  he,  eagerly. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I'm  afraid  not.  You  are  in  no 
danger  here,  I  hope.  Good-by ;  wish  us  a  speedy  jour- 
ney." 

"  I  shall  wish  you  a  speedy  return  instead,"  said  Rex, 
taking  the  slender  little  hand  in  his,  and  remembering 
with  an  odd  sensation  how  often  he  used  to  hold  one  but 
a  trifle  smaller,  belonging  to  a  certain  gray-eyed  child. 
"  Miss  Daisy,  I  have  something  to  tell  you  when  you 
come  back.  May  I  ?  " 

The  innocently  surprised  look  she  gave  him  !  "•  Why, 
yes  —  of  course,  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said, 
smiling  up  at  him.  "  Please  don't  let  Puck  bore  you  out- 
rageously while  I  am  gone." 

"  Good-night !  "  And  Captain  Rex  bolted  himself  in 
again,  with  a  head  full  of  insane  plans,  which  speedily 
became  still  more  impracticable  when  converted  into 
dreams. 

Perhaps  Aunt  Debby  would  not  have  congratulated 
herself  so  much  on  her  management  of  Dora,  could  she 
have  heard  a  whispered  conversation  which  that  young 


CATO'S   GUEST.  273 

lady  was  carrying  on  with  Harry  Peyton,  on  the  steps 
of  the  piazza,  at  the  same  time  that  her  respected  relative 
was  on  her  knees  in  front  of  a  chest,  dragging  out  clothes. 

"  Harry,"  said  Dora,  slipping  her  hand  into  his  arm, 
"somehow,  I  don't  think  our  negro  quarters  are  above 
reproach  —  in  war-times,  I  mean." 

"  You  don't  think  they  have  any  Federals  hidden 
away  ?  "  said  Harry,  rather  startled ;  for  Grandma  Frost 
had  so  far  been  unmolested,  chiefly  owing  to  the  Peyton 
influence. 

"  I  can't  say.  Cato  and  Jim  have  acted  very  queerly 
for  a  day  or  so,"  said  Dora,  her  heart  throbbing  guiltily 
at  her  treachery.  "But  I  only  thought  —  that  if  Lieu- 
tenant Hayes'  hunt  was  unsuccessful,  he  might  look  here. 
If  he  did  it  carefully,  grandma  wouldn't  "  — 

The  lie  actually  stuck  in  Dora's  throat,  and  she  was 
glad  that  Captain  Forsyth's  presence  at  her  elbow  pre- 
vented anything  further.  She  had  said  enough,  however, 
and  half  an  hour  after,  in  the  solitude  of  her  own  room, 
her  momentary  fit  of  revenge  past,  the  unhappy  girl 
would  have  given  much  to  forget  the  act  of  which  she 
had  been  guilty. 

18 


274  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER   XX. 
THE  THREAD  WHICH  JUDGE  GEAY   HELD. 

"  A  RE  you  very  much  occupied,  James  ?  The  gentle- 
-*-*-  man  says  his  business  is  urgent,"  and  Miss  Rachel 
handed  a  card  to  Judge  Gray,  as  he  arose  from  his  chair. 

She  was  the  same  Miss  Rachel,  and  hardly  looked  a 
day  older  than  when  she  waved  her  good -by  to  Marjorie 
from  the  door-step.  The  Judge's  hair  was  touched  with 
silver,  now ;  the  soft  curls  on  his  temples  were  almost 
white,  but  they  only  added  to  the  beauty  of  his  noble 
head  and  brow,  and  his  hazel  eyes  wore  the  old,  merry 
twinkle  which  haunted  Marjorie,  still. 

"  Mr.  Percy  Clive,"  said  he,  looking  at  the  card  in  his 
hand.  "  Of  course,  Rachel.  Ask  him  to  walk  in." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Judge  Gray 
heartily,  shaking  hands  with  his  guest  as  he  entered  the 
study.  "  I  was  just  about  writing  to  your  brother  ;  "  he 
glanced  at  the  several  sheets  upon  his  desk,  "  and  found 
it  a  more  voluminous  epistle  than  I  had  anticipated." 

"  So  he  has  written  you  ?  "  said  Percy  Clive.  "  Then 
it  will  hardly  be  necessary  for  me  to  explain  my  errand. 
And  now,  sir,  what  information  can  you  give  me  of  a 
child  whom  I  almost  begin  to  believe  must  be  my  little 
niece." 

"  Marjorie  did  reside  for  a  time  in  my  family,"  said 
Judge  Gray,  "  but  for  the  last  six  or  seven  years,  I  have 
lost  all  trace  of  her,  to  my  infinite  regret."  And  then  in 
succinct  terms  he  gave  Mr.  Clive  the  outline  of  Marjorie's 
history,  her  residence  at  the  Asylum,  and  her  adoption  by 


THE   THREAD   WHICH  JUDGE   GRAY  HELD.  275 

Mrs.  Wylder,  together  with  her  mysterious  disappearance. 
"  I  have  here,"  said  Judge  Gray,  unlocking  a  drawer  of 
his  secretary,  "  the  letters  which  Barney  Brian  gave  me, 
and  here  is  the  note  which  I  received  from  Barry  &  Wil- 
liams in  answer  to  a  letter  of  mine  asking  for  informa- 
tion in  regard  to  the  parties  mentioned  in  these." 

Percy  Clive  gave  a  surprised  exclamation.  "  That  is 
my  brother's  handwriting,  beyond  a  doubt,"  said  he,  tak- 
ing up  the  letter  which  began  "  My  dear  Father,"  "  and 
his  wife's  name  was  Madeline  Herve\  a  French  girl,  from 
Marseilles.  He  met  her  there  on  his  return  from  a  trip 
to  China,  and,  from  all  I  can  learn,  her  family  were  as 
much  opposed  to  the  marriage  as  we  were,  although  we 
knew  nothing  of  it  until  after  it  was  done  ;  it  was  a  run- 
away match. 

"  George  was  my  father's  favorite  son,  and  his  rage  was 
fearful  when  he  learned  of  the  marriage.  I  do  not  know 
what  Father  wrote  to  my  brother,  but,  judging  from  that 
letter  (which  is  evidently  a  copy  of  one  sent  to  my 
father),  it  must  have  been  something  too  hard  for  George 
to  agree  to.  Poor  fellow,  he  suffered  terribly  while  in 
England.  His  efforts  to  support  his  wife  and  child  were 
unavailing,  and  he  came  to  New  York  to  make  a  last 
appeal  to  Father,  leaving  them  in  London.  Upon  his  ar- 
rival here  he  was  taken  dangerously  ill  at  my  house,  and 
I  supplied  Rodman  (then  in  our  employ)  with  money  to 
forward  to  Mrs.  Clive.  She,  we  now  conclude,  hearing 
nothing  from  her  husband,  took  passage  for  this  country 
under  an  assumed  name,  and  George  has  never  been  able 
to  trace  her  until  now." 

"  Rodman  seems  to  be  the  person  to  lay  hold  of,"  said 
Judge  Gray.  "  Have  you  lost  all  trace  of  him  ?  " 

"  Entirely.     He  had  a  drunken  bout  just  at  that  time, 


276  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

and  it  now  seems  to  me  that  he  took  his  dismissal  very 
quietly." 

"  He  had  possessed  himself  of  the  funds  intended  for 
Mrs.  Clive,  probably,"  said  Judge  Gray. 

"By  George!  That  never  struck  me . before,"  cried 
Percy  Clive.  "  Of  course  he  did,  the  scoundrel !  What 
shall  we  do  ?  Advertise  for  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  and   for   any  information  of  him." 

"  It  seems  sad,"  said  Percy  Clive,  meditatively,  "  that 
we  should  find  the  child  only  to  lose  her  :  I  suppose  you 
have  given  up  all  idea  of  ever  finding  her  now  ?  " 

"I  had,"  said  Judge  Gray,  with  a  curious  twinkle  of 
his  eyes,  "  until  yesterday." 

"  Yesterday !  "  echoed  Mr.  Clive,  starting  out  of  his 
chair.  "  You  don't  mean,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  have 
actually  gotten  hold  of  a  clew  to  her  ?  " 

"  It  looks  very  much  like  it,"  said  the  Judge,  smiling 
brightly.  "  I  received  a  note  from  Mr.  Wylder  saying 
that,  in  a  very  strange  way,  a  little  intelligence  of  Mar- 
jorie  had  reached  him.  He  says  that  the  detective  to 
whom  he  gave  the  case  in  charge  had  called  at  his  office 
to  say  that  last  week  a  woman,  calling  herself  Nancy 
O'Flaherty,  had  been  to  the  station  of  which  he  is  chief 
to  visit  a  drunken  old  woman  who  was  dying  there,  she 
having  been  injured  in  a  street  brawl.  The  detective  was 
in  the  room  during  the  interview,  and  said  that  Nancy's 
chief  object  in  coming  to  see  the  woman  seemed  to  be  to 
get  her  to  confess  something  in  regard  to  a  child  that  had 
been  kidnapped.  The  man  evidently  pricked  up  his  ears 
at  that  (Mr.  Wylder's  large  rewards  have  been  kept 
open  ever  since  the  child  was  lost) ,  and  he  began  to  ques- 
tion both  women." 

"  Old  Moll,"  continued  Judge  Gray,  referring  to  the 


THE  THREAD  WHICH  JUDGE  GRAY  HELD.      277 

letter  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  "  persisted  for  some  time 
that  she  knew  nothing  about  it ;  but  finally,  feeling  that 
she  had  not  long  to  live,  she  confessed  that  she  had  picked 
the  child  up  in  the  area  of  a  large  brown  house  in  Thirty- 
Fifth  Street  between  Fifth  and  Madison  Avenues.  And 
that,"  laying  down  the  letter,  "  is  the  precise  location  of 
Mr.  Wylder's  house." 

"  And   where  is  the  child  now  ? "   asked   Mr.  Clive. 

"  Mr.  Wylder  cannot  inform  me.  He  went  with  the 
detective  to  see  the  woman  called  Nancy,  and  was  told  by 
her  that  the  little  girl  had  been  taken  away  from  New 
York  by  a  rich  lady  and  gentleman  who  had  found  her  in 
the  street.  She  could  not  give  the-  name  of  these  people, 
but  said  that  they  left  a  card  with  her  requesting  her  to 
send  any  information  which  she  might  gather  from  the 
old  hag,  to  a  firm  in  John  Street." 

"  Pray  go  on,  sir !  "  cried  Mr.  Clive,  as  Judge  Gray 
paused  and  looked  keenly  at  him. 

"  And  that  some  time  after,  she  found  a  string  of  gold 
beads  hidden  in  the  mattress  "  — 

"  By  Jove ! "  This  time  Percy  Clive  was  fairly  on  his. 
feet,  trembling  with  excitement.  "  You  —  you  don't 
mean  it  ?  "  cried  he.  "  It 's  stranger  than  the  strang- 
est romance  I  ever  read.  Firm,  sir  !  the  woman  brought 
those  gold  beads  to  me.  The  card  was  left  with  her  by 
my  elder  brother,  Selden,  and  the  beads  belong  to  a  child 
whom  he  adopted.  And  if  it 's  really  the  same  child  — 
there  she  's  been  under  my  very  hand  all  these  years." 

It  was  Judge  Gray's  turn  to  utter  an  exclamation : 
"Thank  God!"  The  firm  lips  trembled,  and  the  kind 
hazel  eyes  grew  moist.  "  How  delighted  Rex  will  be  !  " 
was  his  next  remark,  intended  more  for  himself  than  his 
hearer.  "  My  son,"  said  he,  answering  Mr.  Clive's  inquir- 


278  MABJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ing  face.  "  He  was  very  fond  of  little  Marjorie,  and  has 
never  wholly  given  up  hope  of  finding  her.  The  child 
was  devoted  to  him ;  I  believe  it  nearly  broke  her  heart  to 
go  away.  She  went  while  Rex  was  very  ill,  and  he  never 
saw  her  again." 

"  Your  son  is  in  the  army,  is  he  not  ?  "  said  Mr.  Clive. 
"  Was  he  the  Captain  Gray  whose  gallant  conduct  is 
mentioned  in  one  of  Sheridan's  last  dispatches  ?  " 

"  He  is,  sir,"  said  the  Judge,  pride  in  his  brave  boy 
written  on  every  line  of  his  speaking  face. 

"  I  congratulate  you ;  you  may  well  rejoice  in  such  a 
son,"  said  the  other  gentleman,  heartily.  "  But  I  cannot 
quite  realize  this  amazing  information  about  my  brother's 
child.  It  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true.  And  how  can 
we  prove  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  singular  that  I  should  have  asked  Mr.  Sel- 
den  Clive  for  information  of  this  very  Rodman,"  said 
Judge  Gray.  "  That  was  just  at  the  time  of  Marjorie's 
disappearance.  Do  you  happen  to  know  at  what  time 
your  brother  found  her  ?  " 

"  It  was  during  the  October  of  185-,"  said  Mr.  Clive, 
after  thinking  a  few  moments.  "  My  dear  sir,  I  do  not 
see  but  that  we  shall  have  to  add  to  our  very  great 
obligations  to  you  by  asking  you  to  take  a  trip  to  Phila- 
delphia. A  recognition  of  you  would  be  a  strong  proof 
of  the  identity  of  this  young  girl.  I  have  never  happened 
to  see  her,  but  I  have  heard  my  niece,  Mrs.  Randolph, 
talk  of  her.  Could  you  take  a  trip  on  with  me  (stopping 
in  New  York  to  see  your  friend  Wylder,  the  woman 
Nancy,  and  the  detective),  and  pay  a  visit  to  my  broth- 
er? I  will  not  write  to  George  until  we  can  say  we 
have  found  his  child." 

"  I  would  go  if  I  had  more  business  than  usual  on 


THE   THREAD   WHICH  JUDGE   GRAY   HELD.  279 

my  hands,  which  luckily  is  not  the  case,"  said  Judge 
Gray  warmly.  "  I  love  all  children,  but  little  Marjorie 
was  peculiarly  dear  to  me.  I  can  be  ready  to  leave 
to-morrow,  and,  in  the  mean  time,  permit  me  to  send  to 
the  hotel  for  your  luggage.  Nay,  I  insist,"  ringing  the 
bell  as  he  spoke.  "  And  now  let  me  take  you  into  the 
library  and  introduce  you  to  my  sister.  I  only  wish  that 
Rex  was  at  home  ;  he  has  Marjorie's  little  bracelet  (the 
one  she  wore  when  she  strayed  with  her  mother  into 
Wynn),  and  I  cannot  get  that  until  I  can  communicate 
with  him." 

Miss  Rachel  was  very  much  amazed  at  the  strange 
story  which  she  heard  from  her  brother,  so  much  amazed 
that  she  put  salt  instead  of  sugar  into  the  tea  she  was 
making,  and  never  discovered  her  mistake  until  Judge 
Gray  made  a  comical  face  and  asked  if  she  meant  to 
poison  him. 

After  supper,  she  bethought  herself  of  the  brochd 
shawl,  and  taking  her  keys  went  up  to  one  of  her  cam- 
phor chests,  where  she  found  it,  just  as  she  had  laid  it 
away  six  years  before.  Mr.  Clive  looked  at  it  with 
great  interest,  and  listened  eagerly  to  the  story  of  how 
Marjorie  was  found  in  the  stage-coach  on  that  bitter 
December  morning,  and  how  she  travelled  all  the  way 
to  Saybrooke  on  Judge  Gray's  knee,  wrapped  up  in  his 
long  cloak. 

"  There  goes  an  '  extra,'  "  said  Judge  Gray,  at  last, 
as  a  shrill  cry  came  through  the  open  window,  — 

"  'Nother  battle  !  Two  thousand  killed  and  wounded  ! 
Phil  Sheridan  on  the  war-path  !  " 

"  Here,  boy !  "  Judge  Gray's  face  was  a  shade  paler, 
as  he  tossed  some  pennies  to  the  newsboy  ;  and  he  came 
over  to  the  centre-table  and  opened  the  extra  carefully. 


280  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Battle  at  Opequan  Creek,"  said  he.  "  Partial  re- 
turns," running  his  eye  over  the  list  before  reading  more. 
"  Lieutenant  Raymond,  killed.  Major  Bascom,  severely 
wounded.  Captain  Reginald  Gray,  missing  I  " 

The  handsome  face  grew  ghastly  white ;  he  laid  down 
the  paper  with  a  firm  hand. 

"  Rachel,  have  my  small  bag  packed  instantly.  There 
are  just  thirty-five  minutes  to  spare  before  the  midnight 
express  leaves  for  New  York.  Mr.  Clive,  you  will  make 
yourself  quite  at  home  here.  I  shall  go  direct  to  Wash- 
ington and  procure  a  pass  to  go  into  Sheridan's  lines ; 
I  must  find  my  boy." 

"  My  plans  are  susceptible  of  change  likewise,"  said 
Mr.  Clive,  his  face  expressing  the  sympathy  which  he 
did  not  feel  that  his  short  acquaintance  would  warrant 
him  in  offering.  "  I  will  go  with  you  as  far  as  my  own 
home,  at  all  events.  I  can  go  to  Philadelphia  the  next 
day  ;  when  you  find  Captain  Gray,  safe  and  sound,  I  shall 
depend  upon  seeing  you  at  my  brother's." 

Miss  Rachel  had  the  bag  ready  in  a  few  moments,  and 
the  gentlemen  bade  her  good-by,  and  hurried  away,  only 
stopping  at  Mrs.  Livingston's  to  tell  poor  grandma  that 
"  her  boy  "  was  reported  missing.  Judge  Gray  spoke  as 
cheerfully  as  he  could,  but  grandma's  heart  went  down, 
down,  with  a  thud  as  if  it  would  never  come  up  again 
into  its  place,  and  when  Meta  came  in,  an  hour  later, 
very  pale  and  sorrowful,  over  the  news,  she  found  grandma 
had  all  but  buried  Regie,  and  had  much  ado  to  prevent 
her  from  sending  a  mourning  order  to  the  dress-maker, 
by  way  of  being  "  prepared." 

Perhaps  some  of  the  eyes  who  are  reading  Marjorie's 
story  may  have  known,  from  all  too  sad  experience,  what 
such  a  journey  was  to  Judge  Gray  as  the  one  he  took 


THE  THEEAD  WHICH  JUDGE  GRAY  HELD.      281 

then.  Travelling  day  and  night,  getting  the  papers  and 
"extras"  at  every  stage,  with  a  heart  sinking  bitterly 
one  instant,  and  trying  to  convince  itself  that  it  hoped  the 
next;  the  alternative  —  dead,  or  in  a  Southern  prison. 
The  horrors  of  Andersonville,  Belle  Isle,  and  the  Libby 
had  made  thousands  of  hearts  ache  with  bitter  pain ; 
Judge  Gray  felt  as  if  he  could  better  endure  to  see  his 
gallant  son  laid  dead  at  his  feet,  killed  by  a  merciful 
bullet,  than  to  know  that  he  was  dying  by  inches,  wast- 
ing his  brave  life  away  in  a  torture-pen.  There  were 
more  silver  threads  among  the  black  curls,  when  he  at  last 
reached  Washington.  There  was  considerable  red  tape 
still  to  be  overcome  (even  at  that  late  day  of  the  war), 
and  another  long  day  travelled  by  before  Judge  Gray 
(through  the  influence  of  high  officials)  was  on  his  way 
to  the  Virginia  Valley  where  the  nation's  eyes  were 
turned  to  watch  gallant  Phil  Sheridan's  struggle  with 
the  foe.  And  the  delays  were  too  numerous  to  be  cata- 
logued ;  indeed,  they  seemed  to  multiply  as  he  went  on. 

General  Sheridan  had  again  met  the  enemy  and  won  a 
battle  at  Fisher's  Hill  when  Judge  Gray  reached  his 
head-quarters.  The  new  camp  was  a  scene  of  most  in- 
tense activity,  and  with  great  difficulty  the  Judge  gained 
access  to  the  busy  commander. 

He  was  met,  however,  with  the  blunt  cordiality  for 
which  the  soldier  was  famous,  and  as  soon  as  the  General 
learned  the  errand  upon  which  his  visitor  had  come,  he 
offered  him  every  facility  in  his  power  for  gaining  infor- 
mation, promising  that  next  day  a  mounted  guard  should 
go  with  him  as  far  into  the  country  as  was  safe,  now  that 
Mosby's  guerrillas  had  become  so  troublesome. 

And  with  this  assurance  Judge  Gray  was  fain  to  rest 
contented  until  daybreak,  with  the  earliest  gleam  of 
which  he  intended  to  begin  his  search. 


282  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER  XXL 
HOW  PUCK  KEPT   HIS   PROMISE. 

"DUCK  sat  on  the  doorstep  of  the  west  parlor,  looking 
-*-  out  over  the  grass  with  a  meditative  face.  Inside, 
Captain  Rex  was  reading  "  Hamlet  "  to  Dora  and  grand- 
ma, and  they  had  been  having  quite  a  cozy  morning  of 
it.  He  read  beautifully,  and  Dora  sat  listening  to  the 
clear,  full  voice,  with  a  certain  guiltiness  which  made  her 
loth  to  meet  the  reader's  eye.  Puck  had  been  unusually 
quiet,  for  him.  He  liked  the  reading,  and  had  been 
much  impressed  with  the  grave-digger's  conversation,  and 
coaxed  to  hear  it  over  again,  "  'Cause  you  see  I'm  lone- 
some without  Posy,"  said  he,  "  an'  mus'  have  some 
amoosement.  Recweation  was  what  Miss  Daisy  called 
it  when  I  asked  why  she  an'  Aunt  Debby  went  to  see 
Cousin  Lemuel." 

Captain  Rex  laughed,  but  good-naturedly  reread  part 
of  the  scene  for  Puck,  and  then  laid  down  .the  book  to 
hold  a  skein  of  worsted  for  Dora.  Puck  sat  and  pon- 
dered for  some  moments,  until  a  violent  squacking  in  the 
direction  of  Cato's  hen-coops  reminded  him  that  there 
might  be  a  slaughter  of  chickens  for  dinner  going  on ;  so 
off  he  started  to  assist.  He  got  there  somewhat  late, 
however,  for  Cato  was  in  the  act  of  dangling  a  fat  gander 
in  the  air  when  Puck  strolled  up. 

"  Jus'  killed  de  ole  gander,"  said  Cato.  "  'Member  de 
day  him  run  after  you  and  Missy  Posy,  eh  ?  He  make 
one  bery  good  meal  after  Chloe  hab  him  in  de  oven,  I 
reckon." 


HOW   PUCK   KEPT   HIS    PROMISE.  283 

"  I'll  help  you  pick  off  the  feathers,  Cato,"  said  Puck, 
eagerly.  "  Think  there'll  be  enough  for  gwandma  to 
make  me  a  bwan  new  pillow  ?  Aunt  Debby  won't  let  me 
have  but  one,  an'  Posy  's  is  ever  so  much  bigger  than 
mine  ;  I'm  the  oldest,  too." 

"  Always  ought  to  gib  de  best  to  your  li'le  sister,"  said 
Cato,  sagely.  "  Come  'long  into  de  wash'us,  massa,  and 
you'll  see  how  many  fedders  we'll  hab." 

Puck  went  with  such  alacrity  that  he  upset  the  pan  of 
hot  water,  and  very  narrowly  escaped  scalding  his  little 
toes,  and  his  exclamations  of  pain  brought  Chloe  out  to 
see  what  was  the  matter.  She  scolded  them  both,  and 
added  considerably  to  the  commotion,  but  then  a  commo- 
tion was  pretty  certain  to  accompany  Puck's  movements 
under  any  circumstances  ;  so  Dora  (when  the  distant 
sound  thereof  reached  her  ears)  only  shrugged  her  pretty 
shoulders  and  opined  that  the  raging  elements  would  set- 
tle themselves  somehow  without  her  assistance,  and  went 
on  tranquilly  with  her  flirtation  with  Captain  Rex.  That 
gentleman,  as  has  before  been  said,  was  intensely  curious 
about  the  history  of  the  little  governess,  and  he  endeav- 
ored to  beguile  Dora  into  telling  him  something  of  it. 
But,  unfortunately  for  him,  Dora  knew  but  little  ;  Aunt 
Debby  was  the  only  person  to  whom  Marjorie  had  con-! 
fided  anything  of  importance.  But  she  made  the  best  of 
what  she  did  know,  and  gave  Captain  Rex  a  little  sketch 
of  Marjorie's  adoption  by  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  her  subse- 
quent attendance  of  Mrs.  Moulton's  school,  from  whence 
she  had  come  to  them.  Altogether  it  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant morning.  Grandma  took  her  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion, and  told  some  stories  of  Philadelphia  in  the  olden 
time  which  delighted  Rex.  He  smiled  as  he  thought  how 
his  father  would  admire  her,  and  fell  to  wondering  if, 


284  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"when  this  cruel  war  was  over,"  he  would  ever  bring 
Judge  Gray  down  into  Virginia  to  see  this  beautiful  old 
Quakeress.  So  the  morning  sped  away,  and  they  were 
quite  surprised  when  Cato  came  to  call  them  to  dinner. 
The  smoking-hot  goose,  stuffed  to  its  utmost  capacity,  sat 
erect  before  grandma's  plate  ;  in  its  bed  of  green  pars- 
ley it  looked  sufficiently  appetizing  to  make  Rex  feel 
hungry,  and  he  said  so,  glancing  laughingly  at  Puck's  rapt 
countenance,  as  he  sat  with  folded  hands,  gazing  compla- 
cently at  the  fowl.  Grandma  put  the  fork  into  the 
goose's  plump,  brown  breast,  and,  roused  from  his  reflec- 
tions by  the  movement,  Puck  gave  the  company  the  ben- 
efit of  them  in  this  wise,  — 

"  Alas,  poor  gander !  "  quoth  he,  heaving  a  sigh,  as  he 
looked  gravely  toward  Mrs.  Frost,  "  I  knew  him  well, 
gwandma,  a  fellow  of  infinite  squack!"  l 

The  shout  of  merriment  that  went  up  from  the  elders  ! 
Grandma  laughed  until  the  tears  fairly  stood  in  her  eyes, 
and  had  to  delegate  the  carving  to  Captain  Rex,  who  de- 
clared that  Puck's  Shakespearean  studies  would  be  some- 
thing marvelous  if  he  went  on  at  this  rate.  Puck,  not 
quite  comprehending  what  they  were  all  laughing  about, 
beamed  serenely  at  them  from  his  high  chair,  and  helped 
himself  largely  to  apple-sauce,  spilling  it  plentifully  on 
the  table-cloth  in  the  transit. 

"  Thee  sees  the  gander  was  terribly  noisy,"  said  grand- 
ma, when  she  had  finished  laughing.  "  I  never  did  see 
such  a  bird." 

"  He  must  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  geese  who 
saved  Rome,"  said  Rex.  "  Here  's  the  wish-bone  for  you, 
Puck.  You  had  better  keep  it  until  Posy  gets  home. 

1  The  above  witty  paraphrase  was  actually  made  by  a  child  of  Puck's  age  in 
Ihe  author's  family. 


HOW   PUCK   KEPT   HIS    PROMISE.  285 

After  you've  broken  it,  you  can  give  it  to  me  as  a  tro- 


"  What  's  a  twophy  ?  "  said  Puck. 

"  A  trophy  —  what  shall  I  say  to  make  myself  intelli- 
gible ?  "  said  Rex,  appealing  to  Dora.  But  his  further 
explanation  was  prevented  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
Joe,  Cato's  son,  who  came  running  in  with  a  face  as 
ghastly  as  it  was  possible  for  a  frightened  darky's  to  be. 

"  O,  Missis  —  O  !  "  gasped  the  boy,  coming  close  to 
Mrs.  Frost's  side.  "  Dar  's  a  lot  of  sogers  comin'  —  gray 
fellers.  Li'le  Sam  heerd  'em  talking  doAvn  in  the  corner 
field,  an'  dey  say  dat  de  spy  am  at  Mistis  Frost's,  and 
dey  's  boun'  to  catch  him  now  for  sure  !  " 

Dora's  face  turned  white  as  marble.  Captain  Rex 
sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  he  to  the  old  lady.  "  I 
must  escape  if  I  can,  and  Cato  will  see  to  that." 

Mrs.  Frost  drew  herself  up  erect.  "  Wait,  friend," 
raising  her  hand  ;  "  thee  is  not  safe  inside  the  house,  for 
if  they  have  come  to  search,  they  will  do  it  thoroughly. 
Thee  has  five  minutes  —  no  more.  Cato,  take  him  and 
hide  him  inside  the  largest  hay-cock  which  is  stacked  by 
the  barn.  Young  man,  be  not  afraid  for  us  ;  the  Lord 
takes  care  of  his  people." 

Rex  paused  one  brief  second  to  raise  the  aged  hand  to 
his  lips  reverently,  and  then  followed  Cato's  hobbling 
steps  to  the  hay-cock,  and  crawled  inside  the  aperture.  It 
was  his  only  chance,  and  he  felt  it  to  be  a  slight  one,  as 
there  was  no  doubt  but  that  the  guerrillas  would  pounce 
directly  upon  his  hiding-place,  unless  something  miracu- 
lous interposed.  Cato  packed  the  hay  up  loosely,  leaving 
a  hole  or  two  for  the  prisoner  to  breathe,  and  then  went 
back  to  the  house  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  get- 


286  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ting  behind  his  mistress's  chair,  waiter  in  hand,  just  as 
the  cavalry  dashed  up  to  the  door. 

In  the  mean  time,  Dora  had  removed  Captain  Rex's 
plate  from  the  table,  and,  discovering  that  Puck  was 
missing,  pulled  his  high  chair  away,  and  sat  down,  think- 
ing, "  Well,  if  I  say  nothing,  the  child  will  probably  tell. 
I  wish  my  tongue  had  been  bitten  out  before  I  said  a 
word  to  Harry." 

Wishes  of  that  kind  were  useless  now,  and  her  heart 
sank  as  she  heard  the  officer  outside  give  orders  to  sur- 
round the  house,  adding  that  half  the  party  might  go 
down  to  the  negroes'  cabins. 

"  Why,  Lieutenant  Hayes !  "  exclaimed  Dora,  as  that 
gentleman  made  his  appearance  in  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment, "  where  in  the  world  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  It  strikes  me,  friend,  that  thee  is  taking  liberties  with 
my  dwelling,"  said  grandma,  looking  at  the  men  who  ap- 
peared behind  the  Lieutenant. 

"  Beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  Hayes,  recollecting  himself 
and  doffing  his  hat.  "  You  see,  you'll  have  to  excuse 
us." 

"  Thee  has  left  me  no  choice,"  said  grandma,  quietly. 

"  We've  had  certain  information  that  the  spy,  Rogers, 
who  I  was  talking  about  last  night,  has  been  here,  or  is 
here  now,  and  I  shall  have  to  search  the  premises.  Not 
that  I  suppose  the  man  to  be  in  the  house,  Miss  Lyndon," 
added  he,  "  but  there  's  no  telling  what  these  niggers  will 
be  up  to.  This  old  fellow  looks  as  if  he  could  tell  me 
something,"  wheeling  about  suddenly  and  confronting 
Cato. 

"  Me  ?  Laws,  massa,  dis  chile  don't  know  nuffin,  no 
more  an'  the  dead,"  said  Cato,  with  an  aggravatingly  in- 
nocent countenance. 


HOW  PUCK   KEPT   HIS   PROMISE.  287 

"  You  don't,  eh  ?  By  the  way,"  glancing  suspiciously 
around  the  room,  "  where  's  the  rest  of  the  family  —  Miss 
Debby  and  that  pretty  white-faced  Northerner  ?  " 

"  They  have  gone  to  visit  a  relative,"  said  Dora,  coldly. 

Lieutenant  Hayes  had  evidently  been  drinking,  and 
his  manner  bordered  upon  familiarity.  For  once  a  Con- 
federate was  distasteful  to  her. 

"  Quite  sure  ?  "  said  he,  laughing  coarsely.  "  Well, 
ma'am,"  to  Mrs.  Frost,  "can  my  men  go  up-stairs  ?  I 
told  Peyton  that  everything  should  be  done  amiably,  with 
regard  to  your  feelings." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  thee,"  said  grandma,  ironically,  as 
she  moved  back  from  the  table  and  took  her  knitting  out 
of  her  pocket.  "  Cato,  thee  can  go  with  these  persons, 
and  show  them  that  I  harbor  no  spy  in  my  household. 
Sit  down  and  cool  thyself,"  added  she,  looking  gravely  at 
the  red  face  of  the  officer. 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am  ;  I  shall  have  to  go  and  look  after 
my  men,"  and  the  Lieutenant  disappeared  up  the  stairs. 

Dora  and  grandma  exchanged  glances. 

"  Where  is  Puck  ?  "  said  the  latter  knitting  on  in  an 
unmoved  way  that  drove  Dora  frantic. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Like  as  not  he'll"  —  Dora's 
sentence  was  checked  in  her  throat  by  the  appearance  of  a 
gray  uniform  in  the  door,  the  owner  of  which,  having 
poked  in  his  head  and  stared  stupidly  around,  followed 
the  others  up-stairs. 

It  is  time  to  return  to  Puck.  In  the  fright  which  the 
sudden  intelligence  of  the  arrival  of  the  Confederates  had 
occasioned,  that  young  gentleman  slipped  down  from  his 
perch  at  the  table,  and,  accompanied  by  Blot,  followed 
Cato  and  Captain  Rex  to  the  hay-stack.  4Cato,  in  his 
anxiety  to  get  back  to  the  house,  never  saw  the  child 


288  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

(Puck  dodged  him  around  the  hay-stack  with  infinite 
strategy)  ;  and  five  seconds  after  Gate's  departure,  Cap- 
tain Rex  was  electrified  by  a  small  voice  outside  his  hiding- 
place  which  said,  triumphantly,  — 

"  Don't  you  be  'fraid !  we're  here  —  Blot  and  me  —  an' 
we  know  how  to  keep  our  pwomise." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  lie  perfectly  still,  and 
hope  that  Master  Puck's  courage  would  not  be  put  to  the 
test,  but  Rex's  heart  did  give  a  tremendous  thump  against 
his  ribs  when  he  recognized  by  the  sounds  that  the  party 
had  come  out  of  the  house  and  were  making  straight  for 
the  barn. 

"  Hello !  youngster,  what  yer  doin'  ?  "  demanded  a 
coarse  voice,  as  the  speaker,  a  soldier  in  a  sergeant's  uni- 
form, came  leisurely  toward  him. 

"  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  said  Puck,  politely.  "  Makin'  my 
dog  beg.  Speak,  Blot !  " 

Blot  "  spoke  "  to  some  purpose,  for  he  gave  a  quick 
bark,  and  made  a  dive  at  the  soldier's  trousers,  out  of 
which  he  cleverly  bit  a  good  sized  piece.  Blot's  Union 
proclivities  were  evident. 

"  Blast  the  dog  !  "  shouted  the  man,  attempting  to  kick 
the  little  Skye.  Blot  dodged,  and  the  rest  of  the  party 
gave  a  loud  guffaw. 

The  search  of  the  house  had  not  occupied  much  time, 
although  it  was  a  pretty  effectual  one ;  the  men  hunting 
hi  every  imaginable  spot,  and  making  Chloe  furious  by 
upsetting  her  barrel  of  soft  soap,  which,  under  Miss 
Debby's  supervision  she  had  just  made  ;  "  jes  as  if  dere 
was  any  ole  spy  hid  away  in  my  soap  !  "  sniffled  she,  fling- 
ing her  dish-cloth  after  the  retreating  figures.  Then  the 
party  ransacked  the  out-houses,  and  now  were  scattered 


HOW   PUCK   KEPT   HIS   PROMISE.  289 

into  the  various  cabins,  both  occupied  and  unoccupied, 
finally  coming  to  the  barns,  and  Puck. 

"  I'll  bet  these people  can  tell  something  about 

that  confounded  spy,"  grumbled  the  sergeant,  as  he  rolled 
a  quid  of  tobacco  under  his  tongue. 

"  I  say,  younker,  tell  me  ef  you've  seen  any  man  round 
these  cabins  ?  " 

"  Man  ?  "  said  Puck,  meditatively  ;  "  yes." 

"  When  ?  "  shouted  the  chorus,  as  the  men  crowded  up. 

"  Last  night,''  said  Puck,  mischievously,  but  looking 
as  solemn  as  Blot  himself. 

"  What  did  he  look  like  ?  " 

"  He  had  gway  hair  "  — 

"  That 's  not  him !  " 

"  An'  hobbled." 

"  Ever  seen  him  afore  ?  "  asked  the  soldiers. 

"  Yes  ;  good  many  times.  There  he  comes,"  said  Puck, 
pointing  with  his  finger.  The  entire  party  wheeled  about 

—  there  stood  Cato  ! 

"  You  young  limb,  I'll  fix  you,"  roared  the  irascible 
sergeant,  making  a  stride  toward  him.  "  You'd  better 
tell  us  what  you  know.  I'll  bet  you  know  somethin'." 

"  Don't  hurt  my  dog,"  said  Puck,  suddenly,  as  the  man, 
by  a  skillful  flank  movement,  captured  that  small  animal, 
and  picked  him  up  roughly. 

"  Little  beast !  Bite  my  trousers,  eh  ?  "  and  down  came 
a  blow  on  Blot's  head  which  made  him  howl  pitifully. 

"  P'raps  you'll  make  a  fool  of  Bill  Stykes,"  said  that 
personage,  addressing  Puck.  "  You  don't  git  yer  dog 
until  yer  answers  a  fair  question.  Hain't  yer  had  a  spy 

—  a  Yankee,  here  lately  ?  " 

"  What 's  a  spy  ?  "  said  Puck  sharply. 

19 


290  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"Lord,  you're  a  smart  one,"  said  another  of  the  group. 
"  Hain't  you  had  a  stranger  stay  in'  here  ?  " 

Now  as  long  as  Puck  could  evade  the  question  he  felt 
quite  easy,  but  lie  was  a  remarkably  truthful  child.  Un- 
der no  circumstances  had  he  ever  been  guilty  of  a  lie ; 
what  would  Posy  say  if  he  told  one  now  ?  Wouldn't 
the  sky  fall  on  his  head?  Puck  wasn't  quite  sure,  but 
he  felt  as  if  there  was  a  probability  of  it,  so  he  turned  a 
little  pale  and  lifted  his  blue  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  boldly.     "  Please  give  me  my  dog." 

"  Thar !  "  cried  the  triumphant  sergeant. 

"  Li'le  massa  dunno  what  him  sayin',"  said  Cato,  fright- 
ened pretty  nearly  to  death.  "  He  's  thinking  of  Friend 
Hicks  who  was  here  couple  days  ago." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Sergeant  Stykes,  dealing 
him  a  cuff  which  made  his  eyes  water.  "  Well,  younker, 
go  ahead." 

"  Haven't  got  anything  more  to  say,"  said  Puck. 
"  Poor  Blot !  lie  still,  sir." 

"  I'll  tell  yer  what,"  said  the  rebel,  now  fully  roused 
by  his  companions'  laughter,  and  determined  not  to  be 
baffled  by  a  sturdy  child  of  eight  or  nine  years ;  "  ef  you 
don't  tell  me  what  you  know  t'll  be  the  worse  for  you. 
There  was  a  stranger  hyar  ?  Whar  's  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Isha'n't  tell"  said  Puck,  defiantly,  stuffing  his  chubby 
hands  into  his  pockets,  and  looking  straight  at  the  en- 
raged sergeant. 

"  What 's  all  this  about  ? "  said  Lieutenant  Hayes, 
appearing  on  the  scene.  The  soldiers  told  him  in  a  few 
words. 

"  There  's  a  good  boy ;  you'll  tell  me  where  the  man 
is  ?  "  said  the  officer,  in  what  he  imagined  were  persuasive 
accents,  but  which  made  Puck  shrink  away.  "  You're 
a  nice  little  fellow,  and  don't  like  Yankees." 


HOW  PUCK  KEPT   HIS  PROMISE.  291 

"  You  made  a  mistook,"  said  Puck  coolly ;  "  mos'  wish 
I  was  a  Yankee  my  own  self.  Aunt  Debby  is.  We  ain't 
webels  in  this  house ; "  one  of  his  aunt's  thanksgivings 
on  that  score  returning  to  his  mind  at  this  inopportune 
moment. 

"  The  deuce  you  ain't !  "  cried  the  Confederate  officer, 
in  a  rage,  in  his  turn,  but  not  daring  to  strike  the  child,  as 
Harry  Peyton  had  told  him  to  be  careful  not  to  misuse 
the  family.  "  We'll  see,  my  fine  fellow.  Bill,"  to  the 
sergeant,  "  if  he  won't  tell  what  he  knows,  just  take  a 
rope  and  hang  his  dog  I " 

Puck  did  not  believe  they  would  do  anything  of  the 
kind,  so  he  stood  in  stupefied  amazement  watching  the 
soldier,  who  drew  a  halter  out  of  his  pocket  and  began  to 
tie  a  slip  knot  around  poor  Blot's  neck.  "  Just  hang  him 
over  the  limb  of  that  tree,"  said  the  lieutenant,  with  an 
evil  look,  pointing  to  one  which  stood  near  them.  "  Now, 
boy,  tell,  or  up  he  goes  !  " 

"  O,  massa,  don't  hurt  li'le  Blot ;  he  bery  good  dog," 
cried  Cato  ;  "  Puck  bery  fond  of  him  —  bery !  " 

"  I'll  give  you  one  minute,"  said  the  officer  to  Puck. 

"  Ipwomised"  said  Puck,  gulping  down  a  lump  in  his 
little  throat,  "  an'  I  never  bweak  my  word.  Blot !  O, 
Blot !  my  dear,  dear  dog." 

The  hay-stack  behind  the  excited  party  shook  omi- 
nously, but  they  were  too  much  occupied  to  notice  it. 

"  Up  with  him,"  ordered  Hayes.  The  sergeant  gave 
the  rope  a  pull ;  Blot  kicked  convulsively  ;  his  eyes  turned 
upon  his  little  master ;  he  tried  to  bark  — 

Puck  shut  his  eyes. 

"  Cut  down  that  dog,"  thundered  an  indignant  voice, 
as  a  tall  figure  shot  past  Cato.  The  amiable  Bill  Stykes 
let  go  the  rope  in  sheer  surprise ;  it  loosened  suddenly, 


292  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

and  Blot  fell  to  the  ground.  "  As  for  you,  sir,  you  are  a 
fiend  incarnate,"  and  Captain  Rex  gave  Hayes  a  blow 
which  made  him  blind  and  deaf  for  some  seconds,  and 
laid  him  flat  on  the  road  several  yards  distant. 

"  De  Lord  hab  mercy !  "  cried  Cato,  wringing  his 
hands,  as  the  men  crowded  around  Rex  and  captured 
him  by  mere  force  of  numbers.  u  O,  massa,  dey'll  kill 
you  for  sure  !  " 

Hayes  gathered  himself  up  slowly  and  approached  his 
prisoner.  Rex  threw  back  his  head,  and  his  most  dis- 
dainful smile  curved  his  short  upper  lip,  as  he  fixed  his 
blue  eyes  on  the  Confederate. 

"  You'll  swing  for  that,"  was  Hayes'  significant  remark 
as  he  shook  his  fist  in  his  face.  "  Fool !  If  you  hadn't 
had  such  an  awful  amount  of  sympathy  for  a  dog,  you 
might  have  escaped." 

Puck  looked  up  from  the  ground  where  he  sat  with  his 
rescued  pet  in  his  arms,  the  tears  which  his  tormentors 
had  not  been  able  to  bring,  pouring  down  his  cheeks. 

"  You're  a  bwave,  bivave  soldier,"  cried  he,  between 
his  sobs,  "  an'  I  wish  I  was  like  you,  an'  a  Yankee  !  I 
wouldn't  be  a  nasty,  howid  webel;  I  hate  'em  !  "  and  he 
shook  his  chubby  fist  passionately  at  the  men. 

"  Puck,"  Captain  Rex's  eyes  filled,  and  his  clear  voice 
was  a  trifle  husky,  "  you're  a  hero  !  Whatever  happens 
to  me,  tell  your  Aunt  Debby  that  I  said  so.  I  wish  I 
could  tell  the  boys  at  the  North  how  you  keep  a  prom- 
ise." 

Grandma  and  Dora  were  on  the  piazza  as  the  party 
drew  near,  Cato  and  Puck  bringing  up  the  rear,  and 
Blot  panting  painfully  in  his  little  master's  arms. 

"  We've  got  him,"  said  Hayes,  triumphantly. 

"  Friend,"  said  grandma,  "  bring  that  young  man 
here." 


HOW    PUCK   KEPT   HIS   PROMISE.  293 

Hayes  hesitated,  but  finally  remembering  the  Peytons, 
he  motioned  to  his  men  to  bring  up  the  prisoner. 

"  Does  thee  mean  to  tell  me  that  he  is  a  spy?  "  said 
grandma,  turning  her  clear  eyes  from  captor  to  prisoner. 

"  Reckon  he'll  swing  for  one,"  said  Hayes,  grimly. 

"  Where  art  thou  going  with  him  ?  "  said  grandma, 
maintaining  her  calm  demeanor  with  difficulty. 

u  Into  Early's  camp.  He'll  be  tried  by  drumhead 
court-martial  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  shot,  or  hanged, 
I  don't  care  which,"  said  Hayes,  with  a  brutal  smile. 

"  Man ! "  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  know  not  which  to 
admire  most,  thy  malice  or  thy  inhuman  brutality." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  brought  this  upon  you,"  said  Rex, 
interposing.  "  If  I  live,  you  shall  hear  from  me  again, 
and  —  if  I  die,  give  me  your  prayers." 

"  Thou  hast  them,"  said  the  gentle  Quakeress,  her  eyes 
full  of  tears,  through  which  she  saw  the  handsome  face  of 
the  prisoner  but  dimly.  "  The  God  of  thy  Puritan 
fathers  bless  thee,  young  man." 

Hayes  burst  in  with  a  string  of  oaths,  in  which  he 
cursed  the  Puritans  from  the  Mayflower  down,  the  Fed- 
eral Government,  and  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

"  Go  out  of  my  doors,"  said  grandma,  rising  suddenly, 
carnal-mindedness  getting  the  better  of  her  Quaker  train- 
ing, at  this  insult.  "  I  wonder  my  roof  does  not  fall  and 
crush  thee.  Abuse  me,  man,  if  thou  wilt ;  my  old  head 
will  soon  lie  on  its  earthy  pillow ;  but  dare  not  to  curse 
and  swear  at  the  country  of  the  Puritans,  or  to  defile  my 
flag  while  my  feeble  voice  can  be  uplifted  in  reply." 

The  beautiful  old  eyes  flashed,  the  aged  form  trembled 
with  emotion  ;  without  a  word,  the  man  turned  on  his 
heel  and  slunk  down  the  steps.  Grandma  and  Barbara 
Freitchie  would  assuredly  have  shaken  hands. 


294  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Dora  stood  at  the  steps  as  Rex  went  down  them. 
"  Good-by,"  he  said,  smiling  bravely.  "  Kiss  me,  Puck  ; 
tell  Miss  Daisy  not  to  forget "  —  he  stopped.  How 
could  a  message  avail  now,  he  thought,  with  a  sudden 
pang.  They  mounted  him  between  two  troopers,  and  in 
another  moment  the  party  were  dashing  down  the  avenue 
at  full  speed.  A  farewell  nod  from  Rex,  and  they  were 
gone. 

"  He  saved  my  dear,  dear  Blot,"  sobbed  poor  Puck, 
creeping  to  his  grandmother's  feet  with  a  broken-hearted 
wail.  "  An'  he  said  I  was  a  hewo,  an'  I'll  love  him  all 
my  life  !  He  's  better'n  Joshua  an'  Saul,  an'  David,  all 
put  together  —  there  !  "  And  with  his  face  buried  in 
Blot's  neck,  Puck  wept  bitterly,  and  refused  to  be  com- 
forted. 


IN  THE   REBEL   CAMP.  295 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN   THE   REBEL    CAMP. 

VERY  early,  almost  at  sunrise,  Aunt  Debby,  Mar- 
jorie,  and  Posy  had  set  out  for  Friend  Hicks',  accom- 
panied by  the  spy  and  Jim,  the  black  boy  who  served  as 
coachman. 

Rogers  might  have  been  taken  for  a  most  respectable 
Quaker  preacher  ;  he  was  attired  in  Reuben  Frost's  best 
suit  (which,  fortunately  for  Aunt  Debby's  peace  of  mind, 
fitted  him  pretty  well) ,  and  he  had  stored  his  black  wig 
away  in  some  hidden  receptacle  about  his  person,  suffer- 
ing his  long  white  locks  to  float  around  his  shoulder, 
crowned  by  his  broad-brimmed  hat.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  sinister  expression  of  his  eyes,  and  a  certain  restless 
trembling  and  twitching  of  his  hands,  you  would  have 
supposed  him  to  be  a  venerable  man  of  position  and  good 
circumstances  ;  quite  the  patriarch  of  the  party. 

Aunt  Debby  took  one  of  her  violent  prejudices  to  him. 
on  the  spot.  "Get  him  inside  on  the  back  seat,"  said 
she,  in  a  whisper  to  Marjorie,  as  they  stopped  at  Gate's 
cabin  to  take  Rogers  up,  "  and  don't  let  him  come  too 
near  me  !  Sneak,  every  inch  of  him,"  and  she  deposited 
Posy  between  her  knees  very  much  as  if  she  was  afraid 
to  let  the  man  touch  her  pet.  The  ride  to  Friend  Hicks' 
was  a  long  one  at  all  times,  but  made  longer  now  from 
Jim's  intense  fear  of  running  against  unpleasant  cus- 
tomers. The  road  was  a  bad  one,  the  ruts  heavy  and 
deep,  and  Posy  declared  that  "  her  bones  were  sore,  and 
she  guessed  they'd  come  right  out  of  her  elbows,  me 


296  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

dear,"  before  they  had  gone  half  way.  And  when  they 
were  yet  about  two  miles  distant  from  Friend  Hicks' 
house,  a  wheel  broke  down,  which  delayed  them  some 
time,  and  caused  them  to  fall  in  with  very  unpleasant 
company.  They  were  all  standing  on  the  roadside,  Jim 
hammering  away  at  the  unlucky  wheel,  when  they  were 
suddenly  startled  by  an  exclamation  from  Rogers. 

"  Thunder  and  blazes  !  we  are  in  a  fix  no  mistake." 

Aunt  Debby  dropped  the  reins  on  Black  Prince's  back, 
and  looking  up  the  road,  to  her  horror,  beheld  a  small 
company  of  troopers  attired  in  the  unwelcome  gray  coats. 
"  Nothing  for  it  but  to  sit  down  and  let  them  come  up," 
said  she.  "  War  times  in  earnest,  I  guess.  I'd  as  lief 
as  not  be  in  down  east  Massachusetts." 

"  Look  there  !  "  cried  Marjorie,  joyfully,  standing  up 
in  the  back  of  the  cart,  and  waving  her  handkerchief. 

"  Told  you  we  were  in  a  bad  box,"  muttered  Rogers  ; 
"  just  between  fires,  you'll  see." 

Over  the  field  at  the  left  of  the  party  in  the  road, 
came  at  least  fifty  United  States  soldiers.  They  rode 
splendidly,  their  sabres  gleaming  brightly  in  the  sun- 
light. Marjorie's  lips  trembled  ;  she  had  it  in  her  heart 
to  cry  like  a  baby  at  sight  of  the  dear  old  blue.  As  yet 
they  had  not  perceived  the  guerrillas,  but  it  was  evident, 
by  the  wavering  of  the  Confederates,  that  they  were 
aware  of  the  enemy's  approach  with  a  larger  force  than 
their  own,  for  the  leader,  a  man  on  a  powerful  brown 
horse,  turned  to  say  something  to  those  behind  him.  He 
was  too  late,  for  there  was  a  sudden  unintelligible  order 
shouted  by  the  Union  leader  ;  a  blinding  dust ;  a  clatter 
of  hoofs,  and  the  troopers  flashed  by  like  a  whirlwind. 

"  Ha !  there  they  go  —  hurrah  !  "  shouted  Rogers. 

*'  Bully  for  de  Lincom  sogers  !  "  shrieked  Jim,  nearly 


IN    THE   REBEL   CAMP.  297 

beside  himself,  and  morally  certain  that  he  was  going  to 
be  killed. 

The  skirmish  was  over  as  suddenly  as  it  began.  Mar- 
jorie  and  Aunt  Debby  had  hardly  time  to  clear  the  dust 
from  their  eyes  and  throats  before  a  pleasant  voice  at  the 
side  of  the  cart  said,  "  I  hope  you  were  not  frightened, 
ladies.  That  was  a  very  bloodless  affair." 

u  Humph  ! "  said  Aunt  Debby,  strangling  over  the  last 
grain  of  dust.  "  Wouldn't  have  minded  if  you'd  killed 
'em  every  one.  Suppose  we  shake  hands,  friend ;  I 
haven't  seen  a  Yankee  in  some  time,  and  I  feel  mighty 
friendly." 

The  young  officer  laughed  merrily  as  he  bent  over  and 
complied  with  the  spinster's  request.  He  had  a  bright 
fresh  face,  notwithstanding  the  bronzing  which  campaign- 
ing had  given  him,  and  a  mischievous  pair  of  dark  eyes. 

u  I'm  the  genuine  article,"  said  he,  "  straight  from  the 
'  Hub,'  ma'am,  and  so  are  my  men —  the  only  regiment 
from  the  Old  Bay  State  in  the  Valley." 

"  All  the  better,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  heartily.  "  Hope 
you  gave  it  to  those,  fellows,"  nodding  her  head  in  the 
direction  of  the  guerrillas. 

"  Captured  a  dozen,  or  so,"  said  he,  carelessly.  "  The 
rest  showed  a  clean  pair  of  heels  very  cleverly.  Any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you,  ladies  ?  " 

"  Yes;  take  our  venerable  friend  here  with  you  —  he 
belongs  to  you,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  wheeling  around  so 
suddenly  that  Posy  nearly  lost  her  balance.  "I  was 
helping  this  man  to  get  away,  and  I  sha'n't  mind  a  bit  if 
you'll  take  him  off  my  hands." 

"  All  right,  Captain  Romilly,"  said  Rogers,  jumping 
down  from  the  cart,  and  going  around  to  the  officer's 
bridle.  "  I've  been  lying  around  a  week  trying  to  get  off 


298  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

with  a  bundle  of  papers  —  they  like  to  have  cost  me 
dear." 

Captain  Romilly  stared.  "  You  seem  to  know  me,  my 
good  fellow,"  said  he,  "  but  I'm  hanged  if  I  know  you" 

"  Ain't  accustomed  to  my  gray  hair,"  said  Rogers,  pull- 
ing out  the  wig  which  he  usually  wore.  "  Look  more 
natural  now,  eh  ?  " 

"Hum  —  yes,"  said  Captain  Romilly,  reflectively; 
"  I've  seen  you  in  Custar's  tent.  Well ;  you  may  get  a 
mount  from  my  men ;  I'll  see  that  you  get  safely  into 
camp." 

"  Stop  him  !  "  cried  Marjorie,  suddenly,  her  sweet  face 
flushed  with  excitement  as  she  sprang  up.  "  He  prom- 
ised—  O,  Miss  Debby — you  know  he  promised  to  give 
me  the  information  which  I've  wanted  so  long." 

"  Attend  to  the  young  lady,"  said  Captain  Romilly, 
sharply,  as  Rogers  turned  with  a  sullen  face. 

With  instinctive  delicacy,  Aunt  Debby  began  a  con- 
versation with  the  Union  officer,  while  Rogers  went 
around  to  the  side  of  the  cart,  and  spoke  to  Marjorie  in 
an  undertone. 

"  You  kept  your  promise,"  said  he,  reluctantly  ;  "  that 
is,  you  did,  and  you  didn't — but  I'm  safe  now,  and  likely 
to  get  within  the  Union  lines,  so  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
what  I  meant  to.  You  just  go  home  to  Philadelphia,  and 
ask  General  Olive  who  your  father  was" 

Her  face  changed  painfully. 

"  You  are  deceiving  me!  "  she  panted,  tears  rushing  to 
her  eyes. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  said  Rogers,  with  a  queer  smile.  "  You 
try  it.  I  don't  say  for  sure,  mind  —  I  warned  you  of 
that.  But  General  Clive  is  a  friend  of  your  father's,  and 
knows  your  name  —  I'll  swear  to  that.  And,"  coming 


IN   THE   REBEL    CAMP.  299 

close  to  her  side,  "  you  may  tell  him  that  Dan  Rodman 
said  so,  and  told  you  to  ask  him." 

Marjorie  sat  still  in  the  cart,  her  hands  clasped  over  her 
heart,  but  she  did  not  speak  until  the  last  trooper  was 
out  of  sight,  and  then  she  crept  close  to  Aunt  Debby. 

"  Go  on,  Jim,"  said  that  lady;  "as  long  as  we've  come 
so  far  we  may  as  well  go  to  Cousin  Lemuel's  and  stay 
over  night.  We've  got  rid  of  the  rapscallion,  thank  the 
Lord !  Daisy,"  a  softening  of  the  mouth  as  her  search- 
ing eyes  scanned  the  young  girl's  face,  "  what  is  it  ? 
Didn't  he  keep  his  word  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell,"  said  Marjorie,  mournfully.  "  He  only 
told  me  of  some  one  whom  he  says  knows  who  I  am. 
And  it  seems  so  improbable.  He  told  me  to  tell  General 
Clive  that  Dan  Rodman  sent  me  to  ask  him  about  my 
father.  Do  you  believe  that  General  Clive  knows  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  shame,"  said  Miss  Debby,  warmly.  "  Well, 
there  's  no  earthly  harm  in  asking,  as  I  can  see.  George 
Clive,  eh?  Wasn't  that  the  one  who  had  some  queer 
quarrel  with  his  father  ?  " 

The  color  flew  back  into  Marjorie's  face.  "  It  can't 
be  —  you  don't  suppose  ?  "  she  faltered  incoherently. 
"  Why,  ever  so  long  ago,  when  I  first  came  to  Mrs. 
Randolph's,  she  told  me  a  story  about  her  uncle  George, 
one  day  when  she  was  showing  me  her  jewels,  and  I  saw 
a  picture  of  him  "  — 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Aunt  Debby,  interrogatively,  as  Mar- 
jorie paused. 

"  I  was  trying  to  think,"  said  she,  starting.  "  It  was 
something  about  his  marriage  that  his  father  was  dis- 
pleased with  —  O  !  Miss  Debby  —  you  don't  ever  sup- 
pose that  he  could  be  my  father  ?  " 

It  was  good  to  hear  the  lingering  of  Marjorie's  sweet 
voice  on  those  two  words. 


300  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Child,"  said  good  Aunt  Debby,  kissing  her,  "  don't 
worry  yourself  into  a  fever.  If  he  is,  he  is,  and  you'll 
find  it  out ;  if  he  is  not,  you'd  only  have  an  awful  dis- 
appointment. Do  you  want  to  go  back  and  find  out? 
I  won't  stand  in  the  way.  But  I'm  free  to  confess  that 
if  a  letter  would  do  to  begin  matters,  it  would  please  me. 
More  especially  as  I'm  beginning  to  think  we  won't  be 
safe  around  here  very  much  longer  ;  if  we've  got  to  go 
North  (grandma,  the  children,  and  I),  we  can  all  pull 
up  sticks  and  go  together.  She'll  hate  to  leave  the 
place  ;  but  if  we're  going,  we  might  as  well  go  while  the 
money  lasts.  I'll  consult  Cousin  Lemuel  about  it  this 
very  day." 

Friend  Hicks'  house  was  a  snug  little  place,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  and  looked  quite 
neat,  considering  that  it  was  war  times  and  money  and 
labor  scarce.  The  grim  Quaker  himself,  in  a  broad- 
brimmed  straw  hat,  was  sweeping  up  the  walk  which  led 
to  his  front  door,  and  he  came  down  to  the  cart  broom 
in  hand. 

"  I'm  pleased  to  see  thee,  Deborah  Frost,"  said  he ; 
"  and  thee,  friend  Daisy,  and  thee,  Posy.  Thee 's  all  wel- 
come. But  where 's  Puck  ?  " 

"  There  wasn't  room,"  said  Posy,  "  and  he  was  awful 
sorry.  But  I  told  him  I  guessed  you'd  send  him  some 
peppermints,  and  he  told  me  not  to  forget." 

"  Posy  !  "  said  Aunt  Debby's  voice,  in  warning  accents. 
The  little  maid  shrank  behind  Marjorie,  and  only  emerged 
from  her  place  of  refuge  when  Friend  Hicks,  with  a 
chuckle,  told  her  to  go  into  the  front  room  and  see  if  she 
did  not  find  a  plate  of  ginger-snaps. 

"  We  came  to  ask  your  hospitality  for  an  unfortunate 
man,  whom  we  didn't  dare  to  harbor,"  said  Aunt  Debby, 


IN    THE   REBEL    ^AMP.  301 

removing  her  bonnet,  and  making  herself  comfortable  in 
a  rocking-chair.  "  But  luckily  for  you  —  and  the  rest  of 
us  —  we  met  a  party  of  Union  soldiers  who  kindly  took 
him  off  our  hands  ;  and  a  party  of  guerrillas,"  added  she, 
creasing  her  bonnet  strings  carefully.  "  Have  you  had 
any  trouble  that  way  ?  " 

"  Plenty,"  said  Friend  Hicks,  after  listening  to  the  ac- 
count of  their  adventures.  "  I  should  have  done  my  best 
for  thee  had'st  thou  brought  the  man  here,  but  thee  sees 
we  are  no  ways  secure  just  now." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Aunt  Debby  with  a  rueful  counte- 
nance. '•  This  will  make  it  bad  for  our  other  guest, 
Daisy." 

"  More  spies  ?  "  said  Friend  Hicks,  with  a  dry  look. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Aunt  Debby,  indignantly.  "  I  wish 
you  could  see  him,  Cousin  Lemuel ;  the  nicest,  most  re- 
spectful young  man  I've  seen  for  many  a  day.  Well,  we 
won't  borrow  trouble ;  I  guess  the  way  of  escape  will 
open  somehow." 

They  had  a  quiet,  pleasant  afternoon  in  Friend  Hicks' 
cool  parlor.  Posy  coaxed  Marjorie  to  take  her  out  for  a 
walk  while  Cousin  Lemuel  and  Aunt  Debby  were  talking 
over  dry  business  details. 

The  woods  were  lovely,  and  Posy  was  enchanted ;  and 
in  hearing  the  little  maid's  quaint  chatter,  Marjorie  par- 
tially forgot  her  disappointment  of  the  morning,  and  (in 
her  thoughts)  composed  the  letter  which  she  meant  to 
write  to  Virginia. 

Friend  Hicks  was  anxious  to  have  his  visitors  prolong 
their  stay,  but  a  sort  of  undefined  anxiety  on  the  part  of 
Aunt  Debby  for  the  unprotected  household  which  she  had 
left  behind  made  her  decline  the  hospitality,  and  start 
early  the  next  day  for  home. 


302  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

Friend  Hicks  concluded  to  accompany  them  ;  he  wanted 
to  see  Grandma  Frost,  and  talk  over  the  expediency  of 
her  removing  North  during  the  threatening  aspect  of  things 
about  them.  So  mounting  his  gray  horse,  Friend  Hicks 
rode  along  with  the  party,  and  supplied  Posy  with  a 
plentiful  package  of  peppermints  on  their  way  through 
Deep  water  Run. 

This  journey  was  an  uneventful  one  (for  which  Aunt 
Debby  "  thanked  her  stars  "  several  times),  and  late  in 
the  afternoon  they  arrived  safely  at  home  again. 

To  use  Aunt  Debby's  expression,  "  as  soon  as  she  set 
eyes  on  grandma  "  she  knew  something  had  happened. 

The  old  lady  sat  with  folded  hands,  her  knitting  lay  on 
the  floor,  and  Blot  was  making  mince-meat  of  the  ball 
of  worsted,  unmolested,  while  Dora  turned  pale  as  her 
aunt's  sharp  eyes  fell  on  her  face. 

"  What'n  the  world 's  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  Aunt 
Debby.  From  the  corner  emerged  a  distracted  figure  ; 
his  hair  tousled  up  in  one  grand  friz,  his  collar  hanging 
down  his  back,  and  shoe-strings  dragging  on  the  ground, 
while  with  a  sob  Puck  made  hasty  answer,  — 

"  The  nasty  howid  webels  corned  and  hanged  Blot  — 
only  Captain  Wex  wushed  out  of  the  hay-stack  and 
wouldn't  let  'em  —  and  they  tooked  him  away  to  hang 
him.  An'  he  said  I  was  a  hewo,  an'  to  tell  Aunt  Debby 
—  O!" 

And  the  tender-hearted  hero,  whose  tears  had  flowed 
plentifully  ever  since  the  occurrence,  seized  his  devoted 
Posy  around  the  neck  and  went  off  on  a  fresh  score  of 
sobs. 

It  would  be  vain  to  try  to  depict  Aunt  Debby's  feel- 
ings as  Grandma  Frost  told  the  story  of  Lieutenant  Hayes' 
visit  and  its  result.  Rex  had  attracted  her  greatly,  and 


IN   THE   REBEL   CAMP.  80S 

even  had  that  not  been  so,  it  is  but  justice  to  add  that 
the  poorest  and  meanest  Union  soldier  would  have  been 
an  object  of  interest  to  Aunt  Debby. 

Her  patriotism  was  not  of  the  lukewarm  order ;  indeed, 
it  burned  rather  the  more  hotly  for  its  repression,  and 
tears  of  wrath  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  rolled  slowly  down 
her  cheeks  as  she  listened. 

"  In  the  hands  of  the  Philistines  :  the  Lord  help  him  !  " 
said  she. 

Marjorie,  who  had  stood  with  lips  apart,  and  face  pal- 
ing as  Dora  had  told  her  the  story,  found  her  voice  at 
last. 

"  Miss  Debby,  we  must  do  something"  cried  she. 
"  Don't  you  see  they  have  mistaken  him  for  Rogers.  He 
was  the  spy  they  were  looking  for  —  somehow  they 
tracked  him  here,  and  they  won't  stop  to  look  for  proof." 
Marjorie  wrung  her  little  hands  at  her  own  helplessness. 
"  That  man  Hayes  looked  just  like  a  tiger.  They'll 
kill  him  "  —  and  then  Marjorie  broke  down  utterly  at  the 
thought  of  the  frank,  kindly  face,  and  the  brave  young 
life  which  would  be  blotted  out  so  ruthlessly.  "  I'll  tell 
you  what,"  said  she,  recovering  herself  in  a  moment,  dur- 
ing which  they  all  looked  at  her  in  amazement  at  seeing 
the  quiet  little  governess  so  disturbed ;  "  I  '11  take  Brown 
Bess  and  Cato,  and  ride  down  to  the  rebel  camp,  and  tell 
them  that  I  helped  the  real  spy  away,  and  that  Captain 
King  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  They  won't  hurt  me, 
Miss  Debby  —  and  I'm  not  one  bit  afraid." 

"  Is  the  child  crazy  ?  "  demanded  Aunt  Debby,  glancing 
at  the  amazed  faces  of  the  circle.  Grandma  shook  her 
head,  and  it  is  hardly  probable  that  Marjorie  would  have 
gained  consent  to  make  the  experiment,  had  she  not  re- 
ceived assistance  from  a  most  unexpected  quarter.  "  It 's 


304  MABJORIK'S  QUEST. 

a  brave  thought,"  said  Friend  Hicks,  gruffly,  laying  his 
big  brown  hand  on  Marjorie's  shoulder.  "  And  rather 
than  not  have  it  carried  out,  I  will  myself  go  with  thee." 

"  You  ?  "  Aunt  Debby  was  past  anything  but  a  mono- 
syllable in  the  extremity  of  her  surprise.  This  announce- 
ment bid  fair  to  upset  her  completely. 

"  O,  thank  you  !  "  cried  poor  Marjorie,  seizing  hold  of 
the  big  hand.  "It  will  be  all  right  —  it  must  be  all 
right  now.  Miss  Debby,  may  I  have  Brown  Bess  ?  " 

"  Bless  my  stars,  child,  and  welcome  !  Let  me  get  my 
breath,  first." 

"  Does  anybody  know  where  we  are  likely  to  find  the 
party  who  captured  Captain  King  ?  "  said  Marjorie. 

"  I  can  tell  thee,"  said  Friend  Hicks,  interposing. 
"  The  main  army  with  Jubal  Early  are  somewhere  this 
side  of  Cedar  Run.  But  if  thy  friend  was  taken  by 
bushwhackers,  it  will  be  next  to  impossible  to  track 
him  ;  does  thee  know,  Friend  Frost  ?  " 

"  The  officer  said  he  was  going  back  to  join  Early," 
said  grandma.  "  Did  he  not,  Dora  ?  " 

"Yes.  They  were  not  bushwhackers,"  said  Dora, 
with  a  slight  return  of  her  old  petulance.  "  They  were 
regular  Confederate  cavalry;  Hayes  is  in  Harry  Pey- 
ton's company,  and  belongs  to  the  —  Virginia  Regiment." 

"  There  is  no  time  to  be  lost,  then,"  said  Friend  Hicks, 
glancing  at  the  setting  sun.  "  Let  thy  servant  give  my 
white  nag  good  measure  of  oats,  then  give  us  a  bite  of 
supper,  if  thee  please,  Friend  Frost,  and  let  us  be  off. 
The  ride  is  through  the  forest,  part  way,  and  nigh 
upon  fourteen  miles.  Put  on  warmer  clothes  than  these, 
child,"  looking  at  Marjorie's  white  dress. 

"  You  may  have  my  habit,"  said  Dora,  rising,  and  as 
Marjorie  thanked  her  with  a  grateful  look,  both  girls 
went  up-stairs. 


IN   THE   REBEL    CAMP.  305 

That  movement  aroused  Aunt  Debby,  and  springing 
up,  she  bustled  about,  giving  Cato  directions,  and  flying 
out  into  the  kitchen,  where,  assisted  by  Chloe,  she  put 
up  a  basket  of  edibles  to  be  taken  by  Cousin  Lemuel. 
Marjorie  found  a  supper  awaiting  her  when  she  came 
down-stairs,  but  she  could  not  eat  it.  She  was  in  an 
agony  of  impatience  to  be  off.  The  subtle,  undefined 
chord  of  old  associations  and  childish  affection,  which 
something  in  Rex's  voice  and  manner  had  touched,  was 
ringing  painfully,  and  she  could  not  pretend  to  account 
for  the  pang  which  shot  through  her  heart  whenever  the 
ghastly  thought  came  over  her  that  perhaps  they  might 
be  too  late. 

If  she  lives  to  be  eighty  years  old,  Marjorie  will  never 
forget  that  ride.  The  night  was  a  comparatively  clear 
one,  but  the  road  for  miles  was  overshadowed  by  trees, 
through  which  she  caught  but  occasional  glimpses  of  the 
stars,  and  part  of  the  distance  was  straight  through  a 
forest.  The  smell  of  the  pines,  the  sound  of  the  whip- 
poor-will,  and  the  melancholy  chirp  of  crickets  and  tree- 
toads  ;  the  overpowering  sensation  of  loneliness  which 
made  her  lay  her  hand  on  Brown  Bess's  neck  (glad  to 
feel  even  that  companionship  when  Friend  Hicks  acted 
as  a  guide,  and  went  before  her)  ;  all  these  were  photo- 
graphed on  Marjorie's  very  soul. 

It  was  a  long,  hard  ride.  Friend  Hicks  rarely  spoke 
—  for  two  reasons:  first,  it  was  against  his  custom  to 
waste  many  words  at  any  time ;  and,  secondly,  it  was 
more  prudent  to  be  still,  not  knowing  who  might  be 
within  hearing.  He  was  an  excellent  guide;  he  had 
lived  in  this  vicinity  for  many  years,  and  knew  all  the 
by-roads  and  shortest  paths  to  any  given  point  for  miles 
around. 

20 


306  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

The  country  through  which  they  passed  grew  more 
and  more  desolate :  Marjorie  shuddered  as  they  rode  by 
houses  (or  the  ruins  of  houses)  which  were  almost 
burned  to  the  ground ;  and  Friend  Hicks  told  her  in  a 
low  whisper  of  the  murder  of  the  gallant  Meigs,  and 
how  Sheridan  had,  in  retaliation,  ordered  the  burning  of 
all  houses  within  an  area  of  five  miles.  Assuredly  if  she 
had  known  what  war  in  the  Valley  was  likely  to  be, 
Marjorie  would  never  have  left  her  Northern  home  ;  but, 
as  the  thought  crossed  her  mind,  she  remembered  that  it 
was  only  since  her  stay  here  that  she  had  obtained  even 
a  faint  clew  to  her  father,  and  she  said  herself  that  the 
growing  hope  was  worth  the  trials  and  fear  of  her  present 
position. 

The  ride  with  all  its  detours  was  nearer  twenty  than 
fourteen  miles,  and  it  was  long  past  midnight  when 
Friend  Hicks  caught  Marjorie's  bridle-rein  in  his  hand, 
and  spoke. 

"  We  must  be  very  near  them,  now,"  said  he ;  "  unless 
my  memory  fails  me  there  is  a  hill "  — 

"  Halt !  Who  goes  there  ?  "  said  a  strange  voice,  on 
their  left,  followed  by  the  click  of  a  musket. 

"  Friend,"  said  the  Quaker,  quietly. 

"  Advance,  friend,  and  give  the  countersign,"  was  the 
reply. 

But  as  the  strangers  stood  still,  the  picket  began  a 
conversation,  first  prudently  covering  the  old  man  with 
his  musket. 

"  How  many  of  you  are  there  ?  "  said  he  with  a  true 
Southern  drawl.  "  And  what  are  yer  doing  hyar  ?  " 

"We  want  to  go  to  Jubal  Early's  head-quarters, 
friend,"  said  Friend  Hicks,  ignoring  titles  as  usual.  "  If 
thee  will  conduct  us  there  in  safety,  we  will  be  much 


IN   THE   REBEL    CAMP.  307 

beholden  to  thee.  We  have  somewhat  of  importance  to 
say  to  thy  commander." 

"What'll  'thee'  say  if  I  won't?"  demanded  the 
soldier  mimicking  him  as  he  sounded  the  signal  for  the 
picket  guard.  "  We  don't  let  strange  folks  inside  our 
lines  often." 

"  I  should  desire  thee  not  to  be  so  discourteous,"  said 
the  Quaker  coolly.  Then  there  was  a  noise  of  other 
feet,  and  half  a  dozen  men  came  up  under  charge  of  a 
corporal. 

He  (the  corporal)  was  more  civil  than  their  first  ques- 
tioner had  been,  and  after  putting  a  great  many  questions 
to  the  Quaker,  and  flinging  the  blaze  of  a  pine  torch  on 
Marjorie's  face,  he  finally  consented  to  take  them  inside 
the  lines  to  his  superior  officer,  and,  provided  that  gentle- 
man consented  to  pass  them  along,  to  General  Early's 
head-quarters. 

Marjorie  had  again  to  undergo  the  ordeal  of  being 
stared  at  by  a  sleepy-looking,  obese  young  man  in  a 
major's  uniform,  who  evidently  was  curious  to  know  what 
had  brought  a  young  and  pretty  girl  into  the  camp  in 
the  middle  of  the  night ;  and  he  questioned  them  pretty 
closely. 

"  I  don't  see  but  what  you'll  have  to  wait  until 
daybreak,"  said  he,  at  last;  "no"  —  checking  himself — • 
"  that  won't  do.  Hadn't  you  better  leave  your  errand 
with  me?" 

"  That  is  quite  impossible,"  said  Marjorie,  speaking  for 
the  first  time,  and  looking  pleadingly  out  of  those  lovely 
gray  eyes  of  her's  at  the  officer.  "  My  business  with 
General  Early  is  urgent ;  I  will  not  detain  him  long." 

"  They're  up  in  the  General's  tent,  yet,"  said  one  of 
the  men,  in  a  loud  whisper,  touching  his  hat,  as  the 
major  looked  around  at  him. 


308  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Well,"  reluctantly,  "  I  hope  I  sha'n't  get  blamed  for 
it.  There  's  a  consultation  going  on  up  at  head-quarters. 
Come  along ;  perhaps  I  can  get  hold  of  the  General." 

Marjorie  and  Friend  Hicks  followed  the  officer  up  a 
slight  decline  of  ground,  at  the  top  of  which  stood  a  tent, 
from  whence  proceeded  the  sound  of  several  voices.  As 
they  reached  the  sentry  posted  outside,  two  officers  lifted 
the  curtain  of  the  tent  and  came  out,  looking  keenly  at 
the  little  group,  and  acknowledging  the  major's  salute  as 
they  passed  down  the  hill, 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  impatient  waiting,  a 
sudden  sinking  of  her  brave  little  heart,  as  she  dis- 
mounted in  obedience  to  the -orderly's  signal,  and  then 
Marjorie  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  the  Confederate 
General  whose  raids  had  made  his  name  famous. 

"  Friend,"  said  the  old  Quaker,  standing  erect,  without 
removing  his  hat,  i;  Daisy  Russell  desires  to  speak  with 
thee."  And  having  thus  performed  the  introduction, 
Friend  Hicks  said  not  one  word  further  until  he  was 
obliged  to. 

"  Will  Miss  Russell  be  seated  ?  "  said  a  rather  formal 
voice,  and  as  Marjorie  raised  her  head  she  saw  a  pair  of 
quick,  restless  eyes  set  underneath  heavy,  grizzled  brows 
looking  keenly  at  her.  Another  officer  wearing  the 
uniform  of  a  general  sat  at  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
and  as  Marjorie  drew  a  step  nearer,  in  his  turn,  he 
raised  his  head  and  surveyed  her  curiously. 

"  I  would  rather  stand,"  Marjorie  said,  her  lips  setting 
themselves  in  the  old,  firm  line  with  which,  when  a  child, 
she  used  to  confront  any  disagreeable  task. 

"  I  came  to  ask  you,  sir,  about  a  Union  officer  whom 
Lieutenant  Hayes  captured  yesterday  afternoon  on  the 
estate  of  Mrs.  Frost.  Is  he  in  your  camp  ?  " 


IN   THE   REBEL   CAMP.  309 

"  If  you  mean  the  spy,  Rogers,  he  will  be  tried  by 
court-martial,"  said  Early.  "  He  is  the  only  prisoner 
whom  I  think  of  —  stay,  there  was  a  general  officer  who 
was  brought  in  last  night.  Do  you  mean  him  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Marjorie  ;  "I  mean  —  the  officer  whom 
Lieutenant  Hayes  captured.  I  know  all  about  Rogers, 
and  I  am  prepared  to  swear  that  this  gentleman  is  not 
he." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  General,  with  an  incredulous  smile. 
"  And  pray,  what  proof  can  you  give  of  the  truth  of  your 
assertion  ?  " 

"Only  this" — growing  a  shade  paler:  "The  spy 
Rogers  was  on  Mrs.  Frost's  plantation,  although  she  knew 
nothing  of  it.  I  assisted  him  to  escape,  and  yesterday 
escorted  him  to  a  place  of  safety." 

General  Early  forgot  himself,  and  swore  a  round  oath. 
"  And  you  dare  to  stand  there  and  tell  me  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  ridden  eighteen  miles  to  tell  you  so,"  she  said, 
her  voice  wonderfully  quiet,  as  she  tried  to  still  the  convul- 
sive throbbing  of  her  heart.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  would 
suffer  an  innocent  man  to  be  hung  for  a  spy,  and  not  open 
my  lips  in  his  defense  ?  " 

"  Is  the  prisoner  a  relation  of  yours  ?  "  said  the  other 
officer,  laying  down  his  pen,  and  speaking  in  a  very  pol- 
ished manner. 

"  Sweetheart,  perhaps  ?  "  said  Early. 

The  bright  blood  flew  in  torrents  into  her  pale  cheeks. 
"  I  think  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  errand,"  she 
said,  with  gentle  dignity. 

The  general  at  the  table  gave  an  imperceptible  frown ; 
Early  turned  over  some  notes  on  the  table. 

"  What  is  the  young  man's  name  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  do  not  know  —  it  may  be  King,"  said  Marjorie, 
hesitating  for  the  first  time. 


810  MARJORIE'S   QUEST. 

"  He  gave  his  name  here  as  Captain  Gray,  New  York 
Cavalry,"  said  Early.  "  Hayes  and  his  men  were  posi- 
tive that  he  was  the  notorious  Rogers,  and  I  ordered  him 
for  further  examination,  solely  because  I  believe  the  spy 
to  be  an  older  man.  Young  lady,  if  your  testimony  is 
true,  I  will  send  the  prisoner  to  Richmond ;  but  you  will 
have  to  identify  him." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  say  anything  positively  about 
his  name  and  rank,"  said  Marjorie,  steadily.  u  He  said 
expressly,  when  he  first  came  to  us,  that  he  would  not 
give  his  full  name  for  fear  of  getting  us  into  trouble. 
But  I  know  his  face,"  —  the  vivid  blush  returning  again, 
under  the  General's  meaning  smile. 

"  Describe  him,"  said  Early,  looking  at  the  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"  He  is  very  handsome,"  began  Marjorie  ;  then  stopped, 
in  some  confusion.  "  That  is,  I  think  so,"  she  added, 
naively.  "  He  is  very  tall,  and  has  chestnut-brown  curls, 
and  blue  eyes,  —  very  deep  blue,  —  and  a  long,  fair  mus- 
tache, and  a  dimple  in  his  chin." 

"  That  is  a  tolerably  correct  description  of  the  young 
man,"  said  General  Early.  "  And  you  are  prepared  to 
swear  positively  that,  whoever  the  prisoner  may  be,  he  is 
not  Rogers  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Will  the  young  lady  tell  us  where  Rogers  is  now  ?  " 
said  the  other  general. 

"  I  cannot  answer  the  question  accurately.  A  party  of 
Union  soldiers  met  us  (as  I  was  helping  him  off),  and 
they  took  him  with  them." 

"  Friend,"  said  the  Quaker,  suddenly  breaking  silence, 
and  totally  ignoring  the  danger  of  such  an  admission,  "  it 
is  true.  It  was  to  my  house  she  was  bringing  the  man. 


IN   THE   REBEL   CAMP.  311 

Thee  knows  I  am  a  man  of  peace,  and  he  would  have 
been  safe  there.  She  arrived  without  him  ;  the  child's 
story  is  true." 

"  Better  send  the  young  Captain  to  the  Libby,"  said 
Breckenridge,  in  a  whisper  to  Early.  He  nodded ;  then 
called  his  orderly. 

"  Are  the  prisoners  who  came  in  yesterday  in  the  guard- 
house ?  " 

"Yes,  General." 

"  Take  a  pine  torch,  then,  and  go  ahead  of  us.  I  pro- 
pose to  visit  one  of  them." 

There  was  a  gray  look  about  the  sky  as  they  emerged 
from  the  tent,  which  betokened  the  approach  of  dawn, 
and  a  sort  of  subdued  stir  in  the  camp  which  seemed  to 
tell  of  some  movement  of  the  troops.  Early  lit  a  cigar, 
with  a  brief  apology  to  Marjorie  as  he  did  so,  and  walked 
on,  by  the  young  girl's  side,  until  they  came  to  the  place 
where  the  prisoners  were  confined.  The  light  of  the 
torch  fell  upon  several  sleeping  forms  ;  and  Rex,  who  had 
been  dreaming  of  home,  and  the  night  long  ago  when  he 
had  looked  at  the  stars  with  Marjorie,  opened  his  eyes 
and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Where  is  the  man  whom  Hayes  captured  ?  "  said 
Early's  impatient  voice. 

"  Present,"  said  two  voices,  and  Rex,  not  more  than 
half  awake,  stumbled  over  one  of  his  companions  in  his 
haste. 

"  That  is  he,"  said  Marjorie,  stepping  forward  where 
the  light  fell  aslant  her  pale  face  and  golden  hair. 

"  Marjorie  ! "  In  Rex's  excitement  and  surprise,  the 
word  fell  from  his  lips  before  he  was  aware  ;  but  she 
was  too  full  of  her  errand  to  even  hear  it.  She  walked 
directly  up  to  him,  and  put  out  her  hand  frankly. 


812  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  I  am  in  time,"  she  said,  her  soft  eyes  dilating  with 
pleasure.  "  The  spy  Rogers  was  on  the  plantation,  and 
he  was  the  man  whom  we  took  away.  You  are  safe  now 
—  is  he  not  ?  "  and  she  turned  to  General  Early.  The 
General  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  have  promised  this  young  lady  that  you  shall  be 
forwarded  to  Richmond  with  the  rest,"  he  said,  briefly. 

"  Do  not  look  so  sorry,"  Rex  managed  to  whisper 
to  Marjorie,  as  he  saw  her  face  change  sorrowfully. 
"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  exchanged  prisoners,  you  know, 
and  that 's  better  than  being  shot  for  a  spy.  Some  day, 
when  the  war  is  over,  you  will  let  me  thank  you  for  your 
courage  and  bravery  ?  " 

He  kissed  her  hand  in  his  chivalrous,  courtly  way, 
raised  his  cap  to  the  General,  and  in  another  second  the 
door  closed,  and  she  was  gone. 

"  God  bless  her ! "  thought  Rex,  with  a  tumultuous 
thumping  of  his  heart  which  made  him  feel  rather  oddly 
bewildered.  "Will  I  ever  have  a  chance  to  find  out 
whether  my  suspicions  are  correct  ?  " 

"Young  man!" — a  hot,  feverish  hand  grasped  his, 
and  a  pair  of  eager  eyes  gleamed  brightly  down  at  him 
even  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the  apartment ;  "  for  God's 
sake,  tell  me  who  that  was  !  " 

"  The  lady  ? "  said  Rex,  startled  by  the  tone  of  the 
speaker. 

"  That  young  girl  with  golden  hair  whom  you  called 
Marjorie." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  Rex,  in  amazement.  "  Then  I  must 
have  spoken  my  thoughts  out  loud.  Her  name  is  Daisy 
Russell." 

"  It  cannot  be !  "  cried  the  speaker,  vehemently.    "  She 


IN   THE    REBEL    CAMP.  313 

is    Madeline's    living   self  —  my   child,    my   dear  little 
child  !  " 

He  staggered  backward,  his  eyes  closed,  and  Rex 
caught  him  in  his  arms  and  laid  him  gently  down  upon 
the  floor. 


314  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AT   WINCHESTEK. 

"  TTALLO  !  guard,  bring  some  water  here,  and  hurry 

-*— *-  up  about  it,"  said  Rex,  unfastening  the  officer's 
vest,  and  discovering  that  he  had  merely  swooned.  One  of 
the  other  prisoners  happened  to  have  a  little  brandy  left 
in  his  pocket  flask,  and  they  got  a  portion  of  it  down  his 
throat,  and,  after  chafing  his  hands,  he  revived. 

"  He  ought  to  be  in  the  hospital,"  said  the  other,  in  a 
whisper  to  Rex.  "  He  had  a  particularly  ugly  wound  in 
the  arm,  when  they  'captured  him  yesterday,  and  I  don't 
think  that  the  surgeon  knew  his  business  who  came  to 
look  at  it.  Know  who  he  is  ?  General  Olive,  of  Crook's 
Division." 

"  Clive  ?  "  said  Rex,  wondering  where  he  had  heard 
the  name  before. 

"  Did  you  speak  ?  "  said  General  Clive  faintly,  catch- 
ing his  name.  "  O,  I  remember  —  I  fainted." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rex.  "  Take  the  rest  of  this  brandy.  I 
shall  send  for  the  surgeon,  if  I  can  get  the  guard  to  go. 
Are  you  in  pain  ?  " 

"  Not  so  much  as  during  the  early  part  of  the  night," 
said  General  Clive.  "  Never  mind  my  arm  just  now. 
Will  you  tell  me  your  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Reginald  Gray,"  said  Rex  ;  "  I  am  in  Custar's  Divis- 
ion." 

"  Gray  !  Any  relation  of  Judge  James  Gray  ?  "  said 
General  Clive,  suddenly  remembering  that  the  Judge  had 
a  son  in  the  army. 


AT    WINCHESTER.  315 

"  His  only  son,"  said  Rex,  smiling.  "  Do  you  know 
my  father  ?  " 

"  Only  by  reputation.  I  wrote  him  a  letter  a  short 
time  since  to  beg  for  information  of  a  little  girl,  whom  I 
have  reason  to  think  resided  in  your  family  at  one  time." 

Rex  gave  a  hasty  exclamation.  "  I  never  knew  such  a 
coincidence  in  my  life  !  My  dear  sir,  I  believe  I  can  give 
you  all  the  details  you  desire.  Let  me  offer  you  my 
blanket  in  this  corner,  where  I  think  we  can  talk  undis- 
turbed." 

Rex's  amazement  may  be  imagined,  as  General  Clive 
gave  him  a  hasty  outline  of  his  search  for  Marjorie,  and 
the  curious  clews,  which,  one  by  one,  had  come  into  his 
hand,  leading  him,  at  last,  to  Judge  Gray's.  So  this  was 
Marjorie's  father ;  this  soldierly,  sad-eyed  man,  who 
spoke  so  tenderly  of  his  lost  wife  and  child  ;  could  it  be 
possible  that,  after  all  these  years,  the  old  boyish  promise 
which  he  had  made  to  his  little  playmate  would  be  re- 
deemed, and  that  he  should  indeed  "  find  her  father  ?  " 

But  if  Rex's  surprise  was  great,  General  Olive's  inter- 
est in  the  long  story  which  the  young  captain  told  him 
is  hardly  to  be  described.  Judge  Gray's  letter  had  never 
reached  him,  and  Percy  Clive  had  delayed  writing,  pur- 
posely, until  he  should  have  certain  information  to  give ; 
and,  therefore,  the  account  of  Marjorie's  life  at  the 
Grays',  her  adoption  by  Mrs.  Wylder,  and  subsequent 
disappearance  was  all  new  to  her  father.  But  Rex  could 
not  supply  the  hiatus  in  her  history ;  he  could  only  add 
an  account  of  his  stumbling  upon  this  sweet  little  Daisy 
Russell,  whose  startling  likeness  to  the  child  he  had  loved 
had  almost  convinced  him  that  it  must,  indeed,  be  her 
very  self.  And  when  Rex,  after  telling  all  this,  added 
the  story  which  Dora  had  told  him  of  Marjorie's  being 


316  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

educated,  and  cared  for,  by  Mr.  Selden  Clive,  the  Gen- 
eral's excitement  became  almost  painful  to  witness ;  he 
clasped  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  and  his  powerful  frame 
shook  with  emotion. 

"  Don't,  pray  don't,"  said  Rex,  as  the  General  tried  to 
utter  a  few  words  of  gratitude.  "  She  was  the  sweetest 
child  I  ever  knew,  and  one  could  not  but  love  her.  Keep 
all  that  for  my  father  —  my  dear  father,"  and  under  the 
heavy  mustache  Rex's  lips  quivered  as  he  thought  that 
he  would  give  half  the  world  —  anything  —  to  see  that 
father's  face  once  again.  "  Hark !  "  said  Rex,  suddenly, 
a  familiar  sound  greeting  his  ears.  "  There  is  —  there 
must  be  a  movement  of  the  troops.  An  attack  —  listen ! " 
as  a  distant  sound  of  musketry  thundered  on  the  air. 
"  O,  if  I  was  only  there  !  Guard  !  " 

But  that  functionary  paid  no  heed  to  the  call,  and  the 
handful  of  Union  prisoners  crowded  together,  and  began 
to  calculate  the  chances  of  escape. 

Certainly  those  chances  did  not  grow  brighter,  when, 
some  two  hours  later,  the  conversation  of  the  soldiers 
outside  revealed  to  the  anxious  listeners  that  Early  had 
attacked  the  Federals  at  daybreak,  and  driven  them  back 
three  or  four  miles,  capturing  artillery  and  routing  them 
completely. 

"  Routing  'em,  eh  ?  "  quoth  an  indignant  private,  whose 
nasal  accents  betrayed  his  claim  to  the  epithet  of  Yankee. 
"  I'd  like  tu  get  hold  of  t'other  end  of  that  yarn.  Yeou 
jest  hold  on  till  yeou  hear  what  little  Phil  has  to  say." 

After  long  waiting  there  came  a  change  for  the  prison- 
ers. A  squad  of  troopers  dashed  up  and  ordered  them 
all  to  turn  out ;  "  they  were  to  be  taken  to  the  rear," 
said  the  commander  of  the  troop,  and  that  was  all  the 
information  vouchsafed  them. 


AT   WINCHESTER.  317 

"  Dew  tell !  "  whispered  Private  Slocum  to  Rex,  with 
a  dry  chuckle.  "  Shouldn't  wonder  if  Phil  had  been 
havin'  his  say,  Capting." 

Other  people  might  have  been  found  to  concur  in 
Private  S  locum 's  opinion  when  the  story  of  that  19th  of 
October  flashed  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land, 
telling  how  gallant  Phil  Sheridan  rode  from  Winchestei 
down  to  join  his  army,  and  plucked  the  laurels  of  victory 
from  the  talons  of  defeat.  Can  we  ever  forget  the  dawn 
of  those  days  which  — 

"Hailed  news  on  news,  as  field  on  field  was  won; 

When  Hope,  long  doubtful,  soared  at  length  sublime, 
And  our  glad  eyes,  awake  as  day  begun, 
Watched  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  to  meet  the  Rising  Sun." 

The  Union  prisoners  in  the  rebel  camp,  however,  had 
but  meagre  tidings  of  the  change  in  the  fortunes  of  war, 
and  it  was  not  until  a  second  order  came  for  them  to  fall 
further  back  that  the  first  hope  of  making  his  escape 
really  took  possession  of  Captain  Rex.  He  had  kept 
close  by  General  Clive  all  day,  and  now  the  idea  occurred 
to  him  that  perhaps  by  watching  their  opportunity  they 
might  elude  the  guard  and  slip  off  into  the  surrounding 
thickets.  One  by  one,  the  troopers  guarding  them  grew 
less ;  the  wounded  and  dying  were  coming  in  fast,  in  the 
few  ambulances,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a 
simultaneous  retreat  began,  which  soon  increased  into  a 
panic. 

"  Now  's  your  time,"  whispered  Private  Slocum,  catch- 
ing a  stray  horse  by  the  bridle.  "  Put  the  General  on 
this  ere  beast,  an'  yeou  an'  me'll  make  eout,  somehow,  I 
calkalate." 

Taking  advantage  of  a  demoralized  company  who  were 
trooping  up  over  the  hill,  the  Union  prisoners  scattered 


318  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

in  three  or  four  different  directions,  Rex  and  Private 
Slocum  on  either  side  of  General  Olive's  horse,  and,  after 
a  successful  detour  of  over  a  mile  they  came  out  in  the 
direction  of  the  field  of  battle,  as  was  evident  by  the  din 
and  smoke,  and  the  straggling  men  and  horses.  Half  a 
mile  further  they  had  just  time  to  partially  conceal  them- 
selves, when,  in  a  whirl  of  dust,  driving  a  number  of 
Confederates  before  him,  Custar  dashed  by  bare-headed, 
fighting  recklessly  as  was  his  wont,  in  the  thickest  of  the 
fray. 

"  I  can't  stand  this,"  said  Rex,  catching  sight  of  his 
own  corps.  "  Stand  by  General  Clive,  Slocum ;  I  must 
have  a  brush  at  them." 

Off  he  went,  with  a  ringing  shout,  snatching  a  sabre 
from  a  wounded  man,  who  cheered  him  as  he  passed.  He 
had  the  satisfaction  of  a  sharp  tussle  with  a  big  Texan, 
who  gave  him  a  scratch  in  the  left  shoulder,  and  a  briefer 
fight  with  two  Georgians,  who  turned  and  fled,  but  it  is 
difficult  to  say  when  Rex  would  have  considered  it  neces- 
sary to  pause,  had  not  a  soldier,  who  was  fighting  bravely 
just  in  front  of  him,  been  struck  by  a  rebel  sharp-shooter, 
and  falling  backward,  nearly  blinded  Rex  by  the  stream 
of  blood  that  poured  over  him. 

"  Guess  I'm  done  for  this  time,"  said  the  man,  as  Rex, 
staggering  to  his  feet,  bent  down  to  see  if  his  comrade 
still  lived.  "  Can't  you  drag  me  out  of  this  a  little,  and 
let  me  find  a  quiet  place  to  die  ?  " 

That  was  an  appeal  which  could  not  be  made  in  vain 
to  Reginald  Gray,  and  presently,  to  General  Clive's  sur- 
prise, he  came  back,  panting  and  breathless,  and  begged 
Private  Slocum  to  lend  a  hand  toward  bringing  the  dying 
man  where  they  were. 

They  carried  him  over  to  the  little  knoll  where  Gen- 


(ilAKKAI.    CI.lVi:    STdtll'KIi    OVKK    HIM." 


AT    WINCHESTER.  319 

eral  Clive  sat,  and  laid  him  down  under  a  tree,  on  a  patch 
of  green  sward. 

"  There  is  a  trifle  of  brandy  left  in  the  flask,"  said 
General  Clive,  looking  pityingly  down  at  the  stream  of 
blood  which  burst  from  the  soldier's  breast  with  every 
respiration. 

The  dying  man  started  wildly. 

"  Who  spoke  ?  "  he  gasped.  "  George,  George,  don't 
you  know  me  ?  " 

General  Clive  stooped  over  him.  "  My  God !  "  said 
he,  in  a  voice  divided  between  horror  and  relief,  "  I 
thought  you  were  dead  years  ago." 

"  Better  for  some  of  us  if  I  had  been,"  said  Rodman, 
bitterly,  —  "  you  among  the  number.  George,  I  did  care 
for  you  in  the  old  college  days,  but  I've  treated  you  like 
a  dog  since  then.  Suppose  you  just  say  you  forgive  me 
before  I  die." 

"  You  don't  know  all  the  evil  I  have  done  you  and 
yours,"  said  Rodman,  as  General  Clive  pressed  his  hand. 
"  Perhaps  you'll  not  find  it  as  easy  to  say,  when  I  tell 
you  of  it." 

"  Give  me  the  rest  of  that  brandy,"  said  he,  faintly. 
"  Ah  !  that  makes  me  feel  my  own  man  again.  You 
stay  here,"  as  Rex  moved  a  little  away,  thinking  that 
perhaps  General  Clive  would  prefer  to  be  alone  with  the 
man  ;  "  it 's  just  as  well  to  have  a  witness  to  this,  and  I'll 
soon  be  out  of  reach  of  anybody's  censure." 

"  You  didn't  know  how  far  down  the  social  scale  I  fell, 
during  your  residence  abroad,  George,"  said  Rodman, 
after  a  short  pause,  in  a  much  firmer  voice.  "When 
your  letter  came  asking  me  to  send  over  the  sums  which 
your  brothers  allowed  you  at  stated  periods,  and  wishing 
me  to  continue  to  forward  them  to  your  wife  after  you 


320  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

had  sailed  for  home,  it  found  me  in  a  precious  tight  box. 
I  had,  all  along,  been  aching  to  pocket  some  of  it.  And 
then  I  felt  that  I  could  do  so  with  impunity.  So  I  took 
half  of  the  first  three  remittances  ;  the  fourth,  I  appro- 
priated entire.  But,  one  day,  I  was  struck  with  conster- 
nation to  see  a  letter  (which  I  knew  must  be  from  your 
wife)  come  to  my  care ;  so  I  opened  it.  I  found  that 
she  had  taken  passage  in  the  Irelandais  with  the  child, 
under  the  name  of  Williams.  You  were  too  ill  to  dis- 
cover anything ;  I  met  Mrs.  Clive  when  she  landed,  and 
took  her  to  my  own  boarding-house." 

A  groan  from  General  Clive  interrupted  him. 

"  Let  me  get  to  the  end.  She  came,  and  was  in  a 
frenzy  of  impatience  to  see  you.  I  am  a  cleverish  hand 
at  imitating  handwriting,  so  I  showed  her  a  few  lines 
from  you  saying  that  she  must  go  to  your  father's  and  try 
to  obtain  his  consent  to  remain  there.  She  was  very  in- 
nocent ;  she  believed  me  —  and  she  went." 

There  was  a  pause  ;  no  one  spoke,  only  the  labored 
breathing  of  the  wounded  man  was  heard. 

"  I  was  all  ready  to  bolt,"  he  resumed,  "  and  I  knew 
that  in  sending  the  poor  young  woman  to  your  father's  I 
was  as  good  as  sending  her  into  the  streets.  She 's  haunted 
me  ever  since ;  I've  never  been  able  to  get  away  from 
that  white  face  of  her's.  And  I  did  bolt;  after  my 
quarrel  with  your  brother  I  went  to  Mexico,  and  when  I 
came  back  to  New  York  I  had  sunk  to  the  lowest  depths. 
Can  you  say  '  forgive,'  now,  George  ?  " 

Great  beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  General  Clive's 
white  forehead. 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Rodman,  rousing  himself  again  with 
difficulty.  "  I  think  I  can  undo  a  little  of  the  evil. 
Yesterday,  I  parted  with  a  girl,  who,  if  she  is  not  your 
child,  is  your  wife  come  to  life  again." 


AT   WINCHESTER.  321 

"  Where  ? "  cried  General  Clive  and  Rex,  simulta- 
neously. 

"  Down  on  a  plantation,  with  a  Quaker  family,"  said 
Rodman.  "  Brave  and  plucky  like  you,  George.  She 
helped  me  off." 

"  You  are  the  spy,  Rogers  ?  "  cried  Rex. 

"How  did  you  know? — yes,"  said  the  other,  more  and 
more  faintly.  "  They  call  her  Daisy  Russell ;  she  was  at 
your  brother's  ;  I  saw  her  there,  myself.  George,"  plead- 
ingly, and  with  a  pitiful  groping  of  his  hands,  —  "  can't 
you  say  it,  now  ?  She  would." 

General  Clive  found  his  voice  at  last,  as  he  knelt  down 
and  took  the  clammy  hand. 

"  Yes,  Dan,  for  the  sake  of  her  you  wronged,  and  the 
old  college  days.  And  —  and  —  I  thank  you  for  the  in- 
formation of  my  child." 

"  He  thanks  me,"  said  Rodman,  wonderingly.  "  George 
—  good  old  George  —  I  wish  —  /  hadn't  "  — 

Silence  now.  General  Clive  laid  the  dead  spy  down, 
and  the  others  turned  away.  Presently  he  came  over 
where  Rex  and  Private  Slocum  were  standing. 

"  I  think  I  must  be  getting  on  where  I  can  find  a  sur- 
geon," he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Rex's  arm  and  reeling 
a  little.  "My  wound  is  horribly  painful.  But,  before 
we  go,  do  you  think  we  can  mark  this  place  ?  I'd  like 
to  have  him  buried  decently." 

Private  Slocum  "  guessed  "  he  could  do  it,  and  he  went 
back  accordingly  ;  and  upon  his  return  they  mounted 
General  Clive,  and  proceeded  onward,  slowly,  for  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  could  retain  his  seat 
in  the  saddle. 

Some  two  miles  further  on  they  came  across  an  am- 
bulance and  some  nurses  of  the  Sanitary  Commission, 
21 


322  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

and  but  just  in  time,  too,  for  immediately  upon  being  laid 
in  the  ambulance,  General  Clive  lost  all  consciousness. 
Rex,  however,  would  not  leave  him,  but  accompanied 
him  all  the  way  to  Winchester,  where  the  surgeons  trans- 
ferred him  to  one  of  the  hospitals. 

But  Rex  was  so  concerned  at  the  apparently  dangerous 
state  of  the  General's  wound,  that  he  hardly  had  time  to 
ask  for  the  details  of  the  battle ;  he  was  only  aware  of 
a  general  sense  of  delight  and  triumph  over  a  victory. 
Once  in  the  hospital,  upon  a  bed,  and  attended  by  a 
quiet,  capable-looking  nurse,  he  felt  that  he  could  leave 
General  Clive,  but  before  doing  so,  Rex  begged  for  a  word 
in  private  Avith  the  busy  surgeon. 

"It's  bad  business,"  said  that  gentleman,  who  was 
well  known  to  Captain  Gray  as  one  of  the  most  skillful 
professional  men  in  the  army.  "  That  arm  will  have  to 
come  off  ;  if  I  had  seen  it  twelve  hours  ago,  I  might 
have  saved  it.  Now  it  is  impossible,  and  I  shall  give 
him  chloroform  immediately  and  have  it  over  ;  the  sooner 
the  better  for  the  patient." 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  Rex  said,  with  a  sorrowful  face. 
Tired,  faint,  hungry,  and  footsore  as  he  was,  the  brave- 
hearted  fellow  never  once  thought  of  himself,  as  he  went 
back  to  the  bedside  and  broke  the  news  to  General  Clive. 
There  was  a  quick,  hard  breath  —  a  shudder  which  shook 
the  soldier's  whole  frame ;  then  he  grasped  Rex's  hand 
and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

"  Let  it  go  —  soon,"  he  said  briefly. 

The  operation  was  over  at  last,  and  the  surgeon  nodded 
with  a  face  of  satisfaction,  and  promised  that  the  General 
would  "  do  nicely,"  and  Rex  was  just  beginning  to  real- 
ize that  the  smell  of  chloroform  was  desperately  nause- 
ating, when  a  gentle  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and 


AT    WINCHESTER.  323 

a  voice,  all  quivering  with  suppressed  feeling,  said  softly, 
"  Rex  —  my  dear,  dear  boy  !  " 

And  springing  up,  Rex  thought  he  had  never  seen  so 
tender  and  beautiful  a  smile  as  that  which  lit  up  his 
father's  noble  face,  and  with  a  sob  that  was  boyish  in  its 
homesickness,  he  laid  his  chestnut  curls  beside  the  silver 
ones. 

"  Father,  O  father  !  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  !  " 

Judge  Gray  used  to  declare,  laughingly,  afterward, 
that  Rex  took  the  only  dry  handkerchief  he  had,  to 
which  the  Captain  made  retort  that  that  was  impossible, 
because  he  had  only  -two  wet  ones  ! 

It  was  like  a  bit  of  home  to  the  brave  young  officer, 
and  he  cared  not  a  whit  if  the  Avhole  army  had  been 
present ;  he  would  have  wept  on  his  father's  shoulder  all 
the  same.  You  see  he  had  not  outgrown  Regie's  warm, 
loving  heart ;  I  am  afraid  he  never  will. 

So  his  father  carried  him  off  to  the  quarters  where 
he  was  staying,  and  got  a  meal  ready  for  him,  and  sat 
by  him  while  he  ate  it,  hardly  taking  his  eyes  off  his 
recovered  treasure  all  the  while.  How  they  did  talk,  to 
be  sure  !  If  Judge  Gray  had  much  to  say,  he  also  had 
much  to  hear,  and  it  would  be  vain  to  describe  his  emo- 
tions when  he  learned  that  to  the  child  whom  his  own 
benevolence  had  befriended  he  owed,  in  all  probability, 
the  safety  of  his  only  son. 

"  And  so  that  was  General  Clive,"  said  he,  as  Rex, 
after  a  hurried  story,  wound  up  with  that  information. 
"  You  have  kept  your  word,  Rex  ;  you've  found  Mar- 
jorie's  father,  or  (what 's  far  better)  her  little  self,  for 
us.  And  yet  I  do  believe  I  shall  have  to  go  down  and 
bring  her  home  myself;  how  will  that  do?  But  now, 
my  dear  young  Paladin  and  cavalier  of  distressed  dam- 


324  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

sels,  I'm  not  sure  but  that  you  need  a  great  deal  of 
looking  after  yourself  ;  that  cut  on  your  head  must  have 
been  a  bad  one.  You  will  be  pleased  to  take  yourself  to 
bed  and  to  sleep  ;  really,  Rex.  I  am  beginning  to  think 
there  is  nothing  half  so  delightful  as  a  blanket  and  the 
hard  ground  to  sleep  on.  What  will  Aunt  Rachel  do 
with  such  demoralized  folk  when  we  go  home  ?  Good- 
night, my  boy." 

But  long  after  Rex's  blue  eyes  were  closed,  his  father 
sat  beside  him,  looking  lovingly  at  every  feature,  and 
thanking  God  for  bringing  his  darling  boy  safe  through 
the  perils  of  war. 


FOUND.  325 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 
FOUND. 

THE  first  thing  in  the  morning  Rex  went  down  to  the 
hospital  to  see  General  Clive,  and,  to  his  infinite  re- 
gret, he  did  not  find  him  as  well  as  he  had  hoped.  The 
surgeon  did  not  seem  discouraged,  however,  but  perempt- 
orily forbade  all  exciting  topics  of  conversation,  and  the 
poor  patient  was  forced  to  content  himself  with  the  as- 
surance from  Rex  that  it  was  "all  right  about  Marjorie," 
and  take  his  sentence  of  perfect  quietude  with  what  pa- 
tience he  could  muster. 

Rex  himself  was  in  rampant  spirits,  and  all  the  old 
merry  mischief  danced  in  his  blue  eyes,  as  his  father  and 
he  went  about  together,  arm  in  arm. 

"  Wasn't  it  enough  to  make  a  fellow  just  crazy  for 
joy  "  thought  Rex,  as  he  looked  proudly  at  his  hand- 
some father.  "  A  great  big  victory  won  by  our  arm  of 
the  service ;  back  again  safely,  with  a  pretty  sound 
head,  considering  the  hole  that  confounded  trooper  made 
in  it ;  my  dear  father  here  ;  General  Clive  turns  up  in 
a  sufficiently  romantic  manner ;  and  Madge,  my  little 
Madge  "  —  a  boyish  flush  crossed  Rex's  bronzed  face  — 
perhaps  it  is  hardly  fair  to  ask  the  cause  of  it. 

Some  days  passed  before  the  surgeon  would  allow 
Judge  Gray  to  see  General  Clive.  When  they  did  meet, 
at  last,  each  conceived  a  hearty  liking  and  admiration 
for  the  other  ;  on  General  Clive's  side  there  was  grati- 
tude too  deep  for  words.  Indeed,  the  few  that  he  did 
utter  agitated  him  so  much  that  Judge  Gray  skillfully 


326  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

turned  the  subject,  by  giving  the  General  a  succinct  ac- 
count of  Mr.  Wylder's  letter,  and  of  his  interview  with 
Mr.  Percy  Clive. 

"  You  do  not  think  there  can  be  a  doubt  of  her  iden- 
tity ?  "  said  General  Clive,  after  hearing  all  this. 

"  Hardly,"  the  Judge  said,  smiling  brightly.  "  I  can 
tell  better  when  I  see  the  child  again.  There  is  much 
for  her  to  explain,  even  yet,  about  her  disappearance 
from  Mrs.  Wylder's.  Rex  has  always  declared  that 
Horace  Wylder  had  more  to  do  with  it  than  at  first  ap- 
peared, but  I  hope  that  may  be  only  one  of  his  preju- 
dices. His  acquaintance  with  Horace  was  not  calculated 
to  inspire  him  with  any  great  liking  for  the  boy,"  and 
Judge  Gray  laughed,  remembering  the  scene  when  Regie 
"  spoke  his  mind ; "  "  but  he  ought  to  forget  that  now. 
Poor  Wylder  has  had  great  trouble  with  his  son ;  I  un- 
derstand that  Horace  is  a  perfect  sot,  and  I  heard,  a  few 
days  since,  that  his  father  had  been  obliged  to  send  him 
to  the  Asylum  for  Inebriates." 

General  Clive  interrupted  him  by  glowing  praises  of 
Rex,  for  whom  he  had  the  utmost  admiration,  and  Judge 
Gray's  eyes  were  moist  as  he  thanked  him. 

"  He  is  a  good  fellow  —  at  least  we  are  very  proud 
of  him  at  home.  But  I  began  that  last  long  sentence 
meaning  to  ask  you  if  you  would  let  me  go  down  to  the 
Valley  and  see  this  Daisy  Russell.  Rex  is  very  positive 
that  she  is  Marjorie,  but  I  want  to  look  for  myself ;  I 
think  I  should  recognize  the  child  I  carried  on  my  knee 
that  December  morning." 

"  Let  you  !  "  exclaimed  General  Clive.  "  I  have  been 
longing  to  beg  you  to  go  in  my  stead,  and  wondering  if 
I  dared  to  ask  such  a  favor.  I  am  tied  here,"  with  a 
glance  at  the  maimed  arm,  "and  the  surgeon  tells  me 


FOUND.  327 

that  when  I  can  be  moved  it  must  be  to  go  home,  and 
I  have  been  chafing  for  two  days  over  my  enforced  inac- 
tivity. But  it  hardly  seems  right  to  ask  you  ;  could  not 
Percy  go  instead  ?  " 

"  I  will  telegraph  for  your  brother  to  come  to  you,  if 
you  wish,"  said  Judge  Gray.  "  Indeed,  I  do  not  think 
you  ought  to  stay  here  alone  after  my  departure.  But  I 
can't  delegate  to  anybody  my  journey  after  little  Marjo- 
rie  —  not  even  her  uncle.  She  took  a  long  journey  very 
recently,  at  night,  for  my  nearest  and  dearest "  —  the 
Judge's  voice  shook,  "  and  I  must  thank  her  for  it." 

The  two  gentlemen  talked  on  vintil  Rex  and  the  nurse 
came  back,  the  one  to  carry  his  father  off,  and  the  other 
to  forbid  her  patient  talking  any  more  that  morning. 

So  the  Judge  went  away,  promising  to  look  in  again 
before  he  started,  and  receiving  permission  from  General 
Clive  to  send  for  his  brother  Percy  to  accompany  him  on 
his  journey  North,  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  take  it.  Rex 
was  delighted  when  he  found  that  his  father  had  deter- 
mined to  go  down  to  the  Frosts',  and  declared  his  inten- 
tion of  getting  leave  of  absence  for  two  days,  to  go  with 
him. 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  Judge,  teasingly.  "  Pray,  what 
do  you  want  to  go  for?  Don't  you  think  I'm  old  enough 
to  be  trusted  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Rex  —  "  not  in  Virginia.  Alone  ?  You 
don't  suppose  I  mean  to  let  you  start  off  by  yourself  ? 
The  woods  are  infested  with  Mosby's  guerrillas,  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  have  a  reversion  of  my  recent  chance 
for  the  Libby.  I  shall  obtain  leave  from  Sheridan  to 
take  a  handful  of  men  as  escort  —  if  I  have  to  tell  him 
the  whole  story." 

"  Very  well ;  the  troopers  will  take  care  of  me.  Hadn't 
you  better  stay  with  General  Clive  ?  He  requires  care." 


828  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Then  the  nurse  may  look  after  him,"  said  Rex,  catch- 
ing his  father's  mischievous  eye.  "  You  want  a  guide, 
don't  you  ?  And  besides,  I  haven't  thanked  Madge  prop- 
erly yet." 

"  O ! "  said  the  Judge,  significantly,  as  Rex  turned 
away  wondering  what  had  come  over  him  to  be  bothered 
with  such  very  inconvenient  blushes  at  precisely  the 
wrong  moment. 

To  return  to  our  little  heroine.  Friend  Hicks  and 
Marjorie  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  away  from  the 
rebel  camp,  after  identifying  Rex  ;  indeed  the  General 
dismissed  them  hastily,  wishing  to  snatch  a  few  moments' 
sleep  before  the  attack  on  the  Federal  lines,  which  began 
at  daybreak.  The  ride  back  was  far  easier  than  the  first 
had  been,  and  they  made  it  much  more  rapidly  than  they 
did  at  night.  But  now  that  the  excitement  was  over,  and 
the  necessity  of  keeping  up  less  pressing,  Marjorie  began 
to  realize  how  many  hours  she  had  been  in  the  saddle, 
and  it  was  a  very  weary,  white  face  that  greeted  Aunt 
Debby  as  she  came  flying  out  on  the  piazza  in  answer  to 
Puck's  cry  of,  "  Hallo !  Here  's  Miss  Daisy  an'  Cousin 
Lemuel  —  O  !  why  didn't  you  bwing  Captain  Wex  ?  " 

"  Thee'd  better  put  that  child  in  bed,  Debby,"  said 
Friend  Hicks,  as  Marjorie  faltered  out  that  "  it  was  all 
right  —  we  were  in  time."  "She's  had  just  about  as 
much  as  she  can  stand  ;  I'll  tell  thee  the  whole  story." 

Aunt  Debby  agreed  with  him,  and  the  procession  (con- 
sisting of  Posy,  the  repentant  Dora,  and  Aunt  Debby) 
carried  the  tired  girl  up-stairs,  and  literally  put  her  to 
bed,  dosing  her  with  all  sorts  of  delicious  compounds,  be- 
ing under  the  impression  that  she  must  be  starving. 

But  whatever  schemes  of  moving  and  packing  Aunt 
Debby  might  have  entertained,  they  were  speedily  put  to 


FOUND.  329 

flight  by  a  most  mdl-apropos  visit  from  a  party  of  guer- 
rillas. Fortunately  for  the  household  of  women,  they  did 
not  seem  to  be  evilly  disposed  men,  except  as  far  as  plun- 
der went.  Everything  that  they  could  lay  hands  on,  of  a 
portabla  character,  they  carried  away.  How  Aunt  Debby 
and  Cato  congratulated  themselves  upon  having  buried 
some  of  the  old  china  and  the  two  silver  tea-sets  under 
a  tree  down  by  the  cabins  !  Grandma  put  all  her  valu- 
able papers  in  her  pocket,  and  sat  calmly  erect  in  her 
straight-backed  chair  while  the  work  of  pillage  was  going 
on,  so  composed  that  even  the  rough  men,  after  lounging 
into  the  room  where  she  sat,  went  out  again,  thereby  leav- 
ing unmolested  Puck  and  Posy's  silver  cups  which  were 
in  the  side-board  drawer. 

The  guerrillas  spent  the  day  lounging  about  the  place, 
killing  the  chickens  and  geese,  slaughtering  one  of  the 
pigs,  and  teasing  and  bullying  those  of  the  negroes  who 
had  not  taken  refuge  in  the  woods  at  the  first  alarm  of 
their  approach. 

"Well!"  said  Aunt  Debby,  after  watching  their  vis- 
itors out  of  sight,  sitting  down  with  Posy  on  her  knee, 
and  looking  around  the  room  with  a  rueful  countenance  at 
the  demoralized  appearance  of  her  household  gods,  "  it 
might  have  been  worse,  I  suppose ;  but  I  do  wish  they 
had  let  Aunt  Frost's  best  bonnet  alone.  That  nasty 
guerrilla  captain  made  a  cocked  hat  of  it." 

A  shout  of  laughter,  started  by  Dora  and  Marjorie,  at 
this  novel  use  of  grandma's  bonnet,  interrupted  her  ;  and 
after  gazing  blankly  at  the  merry  faces  of  the  two  girls 
for  a  moment,  she  began  to  laugh  herself. 

"  We  might  as  well  laugh  as  cry,  eh,  girls  ?  But  he 
did,  I  assure  you,  and  it  was  mighty  becoming  to  his  dirty 
face  and  red  beard.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  I  don't  know 
what  Aunt  Frost'll  do  without  it,  travelling." 


330  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Hunt  up  the  old  one,  Debby,"  said  grandma,  joining 
in  the  fun.  "  Thee  ought  to  rejoice  that  the  old  house 
is  not  burned  down  about  our  ears,  instead  of  lamenting 
my  best  bonnet." 

"  I  did  thank  the  Lord  about  the  silver,"  said  Aunt 
Debby.  "  Puck,  come  out  of  that  glass  of  apple-jelly  ; 
they've  taken  all  the  rest  —  cleaned  us  pretty  Avell  out. 
Well !  we'll  try  to  scrape  up  enough  to  eat  for  two  days 
more,  even  if  we  have  to  call  on  the  neighbors  for  help. 
Mercy,  I  can't  sit  here  fooling.  Daisy,  come  and  help 
me  clear  up  the  kitchen ;  I  expect  Chloe  is  in  the  depths 
of  despair." 

The  next  day  was  spent  in  packing.  Puck  and  Posy 
thought  it  was  great  fun,  and,  as  Aunt  Debby  said, 
"  were  under  somebody's  feet  the  whole  during  time," 
and  up  to  all  sorts  of  mischief,  particularly  Posy,  upon 
whom  the  mantle  seemed  to  have  descended  suddenly. 
After  divers  small  acts  of  naughtiness,  she  was  warned 
not  to  go  near  the  top  tray  of  Aunt  Debby's  trunk.  Posy 
intended  to  be  obedient  (for  she  was  a  good  little  maid 
at  heart),  but  a  tempting  glimpse  of  some  bright  blue 
beads  proved  too  much  for  her  resolution.  She  did  not 
do  much  harm  in  looking  at  them,  to  be  sure,  and  as 
Aunt  Debby's  back  was  turned,  she  thought  she  might 
venture  to  touch  one.  But  Aunt  Debby  whisked  around 
suddenly,  and  poor  Posy  started  in  such  a  fright  that  she 
knocked  a  goblet  full  of  water  off  the  table  at  her  elbow, 
and  over  it  went,  splash,  into  the  tray,  With  many  tears, 
the  small  sinner  confessed  that  she  had  been  naughty 
enough  to  touch  the  blue  beads,  and,  for  the  disobedience, 
Aunt  Debby  announced  that  she  should  whip  her.  Now 
whipping  was  the  one  punishment  that  Posy  disliked  espe- 
cially, and  it  invariably  roused  her  temper  to  its  hottest 


FOUND.  331 

pitch  (to  do  Aunt  Debby  justice,  she  seldom  resorted  to 
it)  ;  but  to-day  she  resisted  all  Posy's  pleading,  and  car- 
ried the  culprit  off  into  her  own  room,  and  fulfilled  her 
promise. 

Marjorie,  hearing  the  shrieks,  came  flying  out  of  her 
room  and  found  Puck  sitting  abjectly  on  the  floor  in  front 
of  the  door,  sobbing  bitterly,  u  'cause  Aunt  Debby  was 
whipping  poor  dear  little  Posy."  Marjorie  tried  in  vain 
to  comfort  him ;  but  when  at  last  the  door  opened  and 
the  little  sinner  came  forth,  she  was  by  no  means  in  a 
subdued  frame  of  mind,  as  a  fragment  of  the  conversa- 
tion which  took  place  between  the  pair  proved  to  Aunt 
Debby  and  Marjorie. 

"I  just — hate  Aunt  Debby!"  cried  Posy,  between 
her  sobs,  "  She  's  a  bad  — cruel  —  aunt;  an'  I  don't  love 
her  one  lit !  " 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Puck,  in  a  consoling  voice, 
too  loyal  to  his  aunt  to  concur  in  this  sweeping  condem- 
nation, but  feeling  that  Posy  needed  to  be  comforted. 
"  Never  mind,  dear.  She  don't  Icnow  any  better  !  " 

"  Just  hear  him  !  "  whispered  Aunt  Debby  ;  and  Mar- 
jorie and  she  had  their  laugh  out,  in  the  closet. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  as  Marjorie  came  down  from  the 
garret,  where  she  had  been  packing  up  some  household 
matters  for  Aunt  Debby,  she  was  startled  by  a  sound  of 
horses'  feet,  and  thinking  that  it  might  be  a  second  edition 
of  their  friends,  the  guerrillas,  she  ran  down  into  Dora's 
room  to  tell  her  so.  But  Dora  was  not  there,  and  as  she 
reached  the  hall,  Aunt  Debby's  voice,  in  tones  of  sup- 
pressed excitement,  called  her  from  the  stairs. 

"  Daisy  !    come  right  down,  quick  !  " 

Regardless  of  the  fact  that  her  long  fair  hair  had  fallen 
down  about  her  shoulders,  and  thinking  from  the  call 


332  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

that  her  presence  was  so  urgently  desired  that  she  could 
not  stop  to  pin  it  up,  Marjorie  obeyed.  There  was  a 
sound  of  voices  in  the  west  parlor ;  and  as  she  crossed  the 
hall  she  saw  a  bright  handsome  face  looking  eagerly  at 
her.  With  an  exclamation  of  pleasure  she  walked  rapidly 
toward  Rex,  but  before  she  reached  him  a  half-merry, 
very  tender  voice,  said  suddenly,  — 

"  MARJORIE  !     Have  you  forgotten  me  ?  " 

The  effect  was  electric.  Every  vestige  of  color  died 
out  of  her  face ;  she  trembled  violently,  and  passed  her 
hand  across  her  forehead  as  if  just  awaking  from  a  deep 
sleep. 

"  Marjorie  f  "  she  said,  slowly  —  "  yes,  that  was  my 
name  !  And  you,"  —  a  joyous  cry  as  she  sprang  for- 
ward into  Judge  Gray's  open  arms  —  "  you  are  the  man 
who  taught  me  '  The  Night  before  Christmas '  —  but  I 
don't  know  your  name." 

"  Think  again,"  said  the  merry  voice. 

"I  can't,"  she  said,  bursting  into  tears.  "But  this" 
—  putting  out  her  hand  —  "  this  is  Regie  !  O,  Regie, 
Regie  !  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before  ?  Why  didn't  I 
know  you  ?  " 

"  It  must  have  been  that  bandage,"  said  Rex,  with  such 
a  comical  face  of  perplexity  that  Marjorie  was  fain  to 
laugh.  "  But  I  knew  you,  Madge,"  and  his  voice  was  a 
triumphant  one. 

"  It 's  all  coming  back,"  said  she,  clinging  to  Judge 
Gray.  "  I  remember  the  snow  and  the  big  cloak.  And 
Barney  said,  '  It 's  his  honor '  —  O  !  "  —  seizing  his  hands 
— "  Judge  Gray,  dear  Judge  Gray,  I  know  you  now ! 
What  has  been  the  matter  with  me  all  these  years  ?  " 
And  she  looked  appealingly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  That  is  for  you  to  tell  us,  my  dear,"  said  Judge  Gray, 


FOUND.  333 

seating  her  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa.  "  You  and  Regie  may 
talk  it  over,  while  I  go  and  explain  to  Mrs.  Frost  what  we 
crazy  people  are  talking  about,"  and  crossing  the  room, 
Judge  Gray  sat  down  by  grandma's  chair,  and  with  Aunt 
Debby  and  Doia  in  front  of  him  endeavored  to  give  a 
short  account  of  what  had  brought  him  down  to  their 
house  in  this  abrupt  way. 

"  It  certainly  was  the  bandage,"  said  Marjorie,  look- 
ing at  Rex  gravely ;  so  gravely  that  his  eyes  danced  more 
mischievously  than  ever.  "  If  you  had  looked  as  you  do 
now  that  day  when  Cato  brought  you  home,  I  should  have 
known  you  anywhere.  Regie." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,"  said  he.  "  It  was  all  papa.  I'm 
jealous  of  him  —  upon  my  word  I  am." 

"Now,  Regie,"  said  she,  in  the  old  coaxing,  half  timid 
voice,  "  you  know  better.  But  I  couldn't  remember  my 
own  name,  even.  How  did  you  ever  find  me  out  ?  " 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  Rex,  briefly,  putting  a  picture  in 
her  hand.  "  You  haven't  altered  at  all.  Madge  — 
you're  my  "  —  and  there  Rex  stopped,  bungled,  and  grew 
red.  Perhaps  it  wouldn't  do  to  call  her  "his  yellow- 
haired  darling  "  now. 

"  It  does  look  like  me,"  cried  Marjorie.  "  But  was 
that  all?" 

"No,  there  were  half  a  dozen  things.  At  first  I 
couldn't  think  who  you  kept  reminding  me  of ;  then,  one 
day,  it  came  over  me  with  a  flash.  Do  you  know  how  ? 
I'll  tell  you.  It  was  when  Posy  said  you  had  a  doll  named 
Seraphina! "  — 

"  Regie !  And  you  gave  it  to  me,  and  there  was  the 
Christmas  tree,  and  Lily,"  —  cried  Marjorie,  half  wild 
with  the  flood  of  memory  which  came  pouring  in  upon 
her.  "  And  who  has  Seraphina,  now  ?  I  can't  remem- 
ber." 


334  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Meta.  Mrs.  Wylder  gave  her  to  me,  and  Meta  said 
you  once  told  her  —  well !  "  for  his  companion  turned 
quite  white,  and  leaned  back  in  her  seat.  "  Have  I  said 
anything  I  ought  not  ?  " 

"  O  no,"  she  said,  recovering  herself.  "  I  remember 
it  all ;  or  it  seems  to  me  that  I  do.  There  was  a  dark 
room,"  —  slowly,  like  a  blind  person,  groping  her  way 
into  the  past,  —  "  and  Horace  locked  me  in  with  Hyder, 
the  dog.  Didn't  I  climb  up  to  the  window  ?  Yes. 
Regie  !  "  with  a  frightened  move  a  little  closer  to  the  tall 
soldier,  "  the  dog  jumped,  and  I  fell.  And  then  there 
was  old  Moll ;  wasn't  it  then  ?  " 

"  I  always  knew  that  confounded  sneak  had  more  to 
do  with  your  loss  than  he  would  own,"  cried  Rex. 
"  Father,  just  listen,  Madge  remembers  about  the  night 
she  left  the  Wylders'."  But  it  was  not  until  some  days 
after  that  she  could  tell  them  a  connected  story ;  just 
now,  the  poor  child  only  laid  her  weary  little  head  against 
Judge  Gray's  shoulder,  and  begged  him  not  to  ask  —  her 
mind  was  so  confused. 

"  You  shall  not  be  teased  with  another  question,"  said 
he,  "  but  I  think  Rex  has  a  piece  of  news  for  you.  I 
promised  him  he  should  tell  his  own  story." 

"  I've  kept  my  promise,  Madge,  that 's  all,"  said  Rex, 
as  the  soft  eyes  turned  toward  him  quickly.  "Do  you 
remember  what  it  was  ?  That  night  before  you  went  to 
the  Asylum  I  told  you  that  when  I  was  a  man  I'd  try  to 
find  your  father ;  and  —  well !  I've  kept  my  word.'" 

"  My  father  ?  " 

Only  two  words,  but  the  lovely  smiling  mouth,  the 
touching  gratitude  of  Marjorie's  eyes  —  Rex  felt  that  he 
had  all  the  thanks  he  wanted. 

"  Take  her  off  to  your  sofa  again,"  said  Judge  Gray, 


FOUND.  335 

releasing  her.  "  But  don't  tire  her  —  those  cheeks  are 
almost  as  pale  as  the  ones  I  remember  six  years  ago." 

"  Tire  !  "  said  Marjorie,  and  then  she  went  contentedly 
away. 

Aunt  Debby  slipped  off,  by  and  by,  to  get  up  such  a 
supper  as  her  limited  larder  would  permit  for  the  trav- 
ellers, leaving  Judge  Gray  to  make  acquaintance  with 
grandma.  As  Rex  had  fancied,  his  father  and  Mrs. 
Frost  were  delighted  with  each  other.  It  took  the  dear 
old  lady  back  to  olden  times  to  see  Judge  Gray's  dress- 
coat  (which  he  never  laid  aside  for  any  other  fashion), 
his  ruffled  shirt  and  diamond  pin  —  it  only  needed  the 
knee-breeches  and  silk  stockings  to  transform  him  into  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school  such  as  grandma  remembered. 
Quakeress  as  she  was,  she  dearly  loved  the  old  courtly 
manners,  and  they  were  part  and  parcel  of  Judge  Gray's 
nature ;  he  could  no  more  have  laid  them  aside  than  he 
could  have  dispensed  with  his  silver  curls. 

Puck  and  Posy  were  fascinated  with  this,  their  last 
acquaintance,  and  Puck's  heart  was  won  by  Judge  Gray's 
admiration  of  Blot.  The  Judge  had  both  dog  and  mas- 
ter upon  his  knee  in  a  twinkling,  whereupon  ensued  the 
following  conversation  : 

"  You're  the  boy  who  knows  how  to  keep  his  promise, 
are  you  not  ?  "  said  Judge  Gray. 

"  Yes,"  said  Puck,  modestly,  wondering  why  the  merry 
eyes  grew  dim  suddenly.  "  Captain  Wex  said  I  was  a 
hewo.  I  don't  think  it  was  me ;  I  think  it  was  Blot, 
'cause  he  never  cwied,  an'  I  did  —  awfully  !  " 

"  There  are  two  of  them,  then,"  said  Judge  Gray, 
patting  Blot,  as  that  sagacious  animal  licked  his  hand 
affectionately. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  heroes  are  something  like  other  boys, 
Puck.  Do  you  like  fifes,  and  swords,  and  drums  ?  " 


336  MARJORIE'S  QUKST. 

"  Dwums  ?  "  said  Puck,  gravely.  "  Wather  think  I 
do!  an'  I've  been  wantin'  a  dwum  for  more'n  a  year, 
now  —  an'  I  don't  care  who  gives  it  to  me,  either,  so  I  get 
it!" 

The  hearty  ringing  laugh  that  answered  this  frank 
statement  reached  Aunt  Debby's  ears  out  in  the  kitchen, 
and  she  smiled  involuntarily  at  its  mirthful  sound. 

"  You  shouldn't  ought  to  have  said  that,  me  dear," 
said  Posy,  looking  sober,  and  bobbing  her  head  very  fast 
at  the  culprit. 

"  I  only  telled  the  twuth,"  said  Puck,  in  nowise  dis- 
concerted. "  Haven't  got  it  in  your  twunk,  have  you  ?  " 

Judge  Gray  was  obliged  to  confess  that  his  remark 
had  been  made  only  in  a  general  sense,  but  added  that  a 
drum  of  the  finest  description  could  be  found  in  Philadel- 
phia, and  he  rather  thought  that  a  boy  named  Puck 
should  have  it.  And  that  night,  as  they  were  going  to 
bed,  Puck  confided  to  Posy  that,  "  It  wasn't  any  wonder 
Captain  Wex  was  such  a  gwand  Yankee  soldier,  'cause 
you  see,  he  's  got  such  a  butiful  papa  !  " 

Rex  and  Marjorie  had  so  much  to  say  to  each  other 
that  supper  was  a  sad  interruption.  A  conversation 
which  begun  with  such  an  exciting  announcement  as  that 
of  having  found  her  father,  and  continued  with  little 
digressions  of  "  O,  do  you  remember  ?  "  was  not  likely 
to  be  finished  for  some  days,  and  Rex  did  by  no  means 
thank  Dora  for  pinning  him  to  a  corner  for  half  the 
evening  where  he  watched  Marjorie  talking  with  his 
father. 

It  seemed  like  a  dream  to  Marjorie  to  hear  that  her 
father  —  the  dear  father  whom  she  had  longed  for  during 
her  lonely  childhood  —  was  not  many  miles  distant ;  how 
could  she  wait  and  go  North  before  seeing  him  ? 


FOUND.  837 

But  Judge  Gray  had  a  little  plan  of  his  own  which  he 
wanted  to  carry  out,  as  he  had  told  Rex.  This  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  that  the  long-parted  parent 
and  child  should  meet  at  Craignest,  whither  General 
Clive  expected  to  go  by  easy  stages,  with  his  brother. 
The  plan  had  met  with  Rex's  hearty  approval ;  there  was 
a  spice  of  poetic  justice  in  giving  the  child  back  to  her 
father  inside  the  walls  from  whence  she  had  been  so 
cruelly  turned  away  and  thrown  out  upon  the  wide  world. 

"  Can't  you  trust  yourself  to  me  ?  "  said  Judge  Gray, 
as  Marjorie  prayed  to  be  allowed  to  go  directly  to  her 
father.  "  General  Clive  is  far  from  well ;  I  do  not  want 
you  to  see  him  until  he  can  bear  the  excitement. 

"  El  ?  "  cried  she  in  great  alarm.  "  You  never  told 
me  that." 

"  He  was  badly  wounded.  And,  Marjorie,  he  has 
given  an  arm  for  his  country." 

Her  eyes  shone  like  diamonds.  "  My  dear  brave 
father !  He  will  need  both  of  mine." 

"And  so,  Marjorie  dear,  you'll  try  and  be  as  patient 
as  he  is,  and  travel  North  with  us,  will  you  not  ?  " 

She  gave  a  dismayed  exclamation. 

."  We  were  all  going  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  said 
she.  "  Do  you  think  it  would  be  right  to  leave  them  — 
the  children,  I  mean,  and  good  Aunt  Debby  ?  "  She 
spoke  louder  than  she  intended,  and  was  overheard. 

"  What 's  that,  Daisy  — dear  me,  will  I  ever  remember 
that  that  isn't  your  name,  I  wonder  ?  Don't  you  be 
fretting  yourself  about  that  journey ;  how  many  years  did 
I  take  care  of  those  children  before  you  ever  saw  'em  ? 
Not  but  that  I'd  be  glad,  precious  glad,  to  have  your 
dear  little  face  at  my  elbow,  and  your  willing  hands  — 
bless  my  stars  !  "  Aunt  Debby  pulled  herself  up  in  her 

22 


338  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

speech  with  a  sudden  start,  as  a  salt  drop  rolled  down  the 
point  of  her  nose,  and  splashed  down  on  her  hand.  "  I  do 
believe  I'm  crying  !  Did  you  ever  see  such  an  old  fool  ?  " 
And  here  she  took  refuge  behind  her  handkerchief,  and 
gave  two  genuine  sobs,  which  made  Dora  stare  with 
amazement,  and  brought  Marjorie  's  soft  lips  on  her 
wrinkled  forehead. 

"  There  !  that 's  the  end  of  it,"  said  she,  briskly,  re- 
turning the  kiss  with  several  hearty  ones.  "  It  isn't 
often,  child,  that  I  take  such  a  fancy  to  anybody  as  I've 
taken  to  you.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  you 
mustn't  think  of  such  a  thing  as  staying  here  a  minute 
longer.  Judge  Gray,  you  just  keep  that  girl  from  saying 
another  word  about  it ;  my  mind  's  made  up.  It  isn't  as 
if  we  were  going  to  stay  down  in  Virginia.  We  shall  be 
in  Philadelphia  (or  thereabouts),  and  we  shall  see  you 
frequently,  Daisy  ;  so  you  just  get  ready  in  the  morning 
and  go  —  and  the  Lord  go  with  you !  "  wound  up  Miss 
Debby,  abruptly,  becoming  conscious  of  a  rapid  moisten- 
ing of  her  eyelashes. 

"  That 's  right ;  push  her  out,"  said  Judge  Gray, 
merrily.  He  enjoyed  Aunt  Debby  thoroughly,  and  ap- 
preciated the  sterling  qualities  and  kindly  heart  hidden 
away  beneath  her  terse,  sharp  sentences,  and  brusque 
manner. 

Rex  growled  mentally  at  the  multitude  of  things  which 
kept  Marjorie  so  busy  that  he  "  couldn't  speak  a  word  to 
her,"  and  was  by  no  means  amiably  disposed  toward  Dora, 
who  endeavored  to  take  the  entertaining  of  their  hand- 
some guest  into  her  own  hands.  Somehow,  Dora  had 
gotten  over  her  dislike  for  the  Yankees  in  a  wonderfully 
sudden  manner. 

And  so  Marjorie  bade  good-by  to  the  plantation,  con- 


FOUND.  339 

soling  herself  bv  the  thought  that  she  should  see  all  of 

J 

the  family  again,  at  the  North,  and  perhaps  welcome 
them  at  her  father's  own  house.  Puck  and  Posy  were 
inconsolable,  and  openly  lamented  their  favorite's  depart- 
ure, drawing  comparisons  between  her  and  Dora  which 
were  by  no  means  flattering  to  the  latter,  very  much  to 
Rex's  secret  amusement.  But  it  was  a  very  April  face 
that  said  good-by,  notwithstanding  all  Marjorie's  resolu- 
tions, and  Rex  whispered  reproachfully  in  her  ear  as  they 
rode  away,  "So  you  don't  want  to  go,  Madge  ?  Perhaps 
you  wish  I  had  never  come  ?  " 

The  indignant  glance  she  gave  him,  and  the  shy,  pretty 
blush  that  followed  it  a  moment  later,  afforded  Captain 
Rex  the  most  intense  satisfaction. 

The  night  before  they  left  Baltimore  Marjorie  received 
a  letter  from  Virginia,  —  her  cousin  Virginia,  as  she  rap- 
turously thought.  Such  a  sweet  letter ;  just  like  Vir- 
ginia's dear  self :  — 

"  We  are  off  for  New  York  to-night "  (wrote  Virginia, 
after  telling  all  her  amazement  and  delight  over  a  letter 
from  Uncle  Percy  which  had  given  them  the  strange  story 
of  Marjorie's  parentage),  "and  from  there  on  to  Craig- 
nest,  where  Uncle  George  must  be,  by  this  time.  He 
passed  through  here  the  day  before  yesterday,  a  ad  O  ! 
he  looks  ten  years  younger  —  notwithstanding  the  loss  of 
his  arm.  He  never  seemed  to  remember  that,  Daisy  ;  he 
was  so  taken  up  with  the  thought  of  his  little  daughter. 
I  cried,  Daisy  —  cried  like  a  goose,  when  I  saw  him.  I 
can't  more  than  half  believe  it  yet,  and  I  am  so  sorry 
that  Fred  won't  be  here,  with  us.  He  is  well,  however. 
I  am  too  busy  to  fret,  and  aching  to  see  you,  darling  little 
cousin.  Phebe  sends  her  love  ;  she  has  done  nothing  but 


340  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

4  Bress  de  Lord '  ever  since  the  news  came,  and  she  says, 

V  * 

(with  one  of  her  funny  sniffs  —  you  remember  ?)  '  Can't 
fool  dis  chile,  Missy  Ginny !  Didn't  I  allers  tell  you  dat 
li'le  missy  was  a  lady  born  an'  bred  ?  '  Papa  says,  '  Tell 
Daisy  to  keep  a  kiss  for  me  '  —  a  dozen,  dear,  from  your 
own  loving  cousin  VIRGINIA." 

Marjorie  cried  over  that  letter.  Her  smiles  and  tears 
lay  very  near  each  other  now,  and  Judge  Gray,  seeing 
the  April  face,  was  glad  when  he  received  the  telegram 
he  had  been  expecting  from  Percy  Clive ;  and  then  they 
started  directly  for  Craignest. 

Coming  as  they  did  from  a  southerly  direction,  their 
route  did  not  lie  through  Wynn,  but  at  Saybrooke  they 
found  a  carriage  waiting  for  them,  and  with  it  old  Robert. 

44  Ay,  but  it's  hersel',  —  the  bonnie  bairn  !"  cried  he, 
the  instant  Marjorie  stepped  off  the  platform.  "  Come 
back  to  her  ain,  just  as  the  auld  master  meant  she  should. 
God  bless  your  bonnie  face  ! " 

Judge  Gray  hurried  her  into  the  carriage ;  he  could 
feel  the  slight  form  tremble,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  have 
her  upset  before  she  reached  her  journey's  end.  So  Rex 
and  he  talked  lively,  merry  nonsense,  and  the  ride  did 
not  seem  a  long  one  ;  indeed,  Marjorie,  in  the  gathering 
darkness,  did  not  see  when  they  turned  the  gate  posts,  or 
know  that  they  were  near  Craignest  until  the  carriage 
stopped. 

44  Here  she  is,"  said  Judge  Gray's  happy  voice,  as  he 
came  up  the  steps.  Virginia's  arms  were  around  Marjo- 
rie's  neck,  and  she  was  laughing  and  crying  all  in  a 
breath,  as  she  bore  her  on  through  the  hall  into  the  small 
parlor. 

44  Don't  look  so  wild,  my  darling,"  said  she,  taking  off 


FOUND.  341 

her  hat,  and  smoothing  her  soft,  bright  hair.  "  Uncle 
George  isn't  here  —  nobody  must  look  at  her  or  speak  to 
her  for  just  a  moment." 

But  as  her  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  light,  Marjorie 
arose  from  her  chair,  and  her  face  changed  rapidly  from 
red  to  pale,  then  red  again. 

"  See  !  "  she  cried  breathlessly,  catching  hold  of  Judge 
Gray.  "  There  is  the  bird  —  the  queer,  gray  bird  over 
the  door,  which  I  remember  ;  and  this  is  the  room  where 
the  old  man  was  —  the  man  who  pushed  me  away,  and 
made  mamma  cry  :  O  !  why  have  you  brought  me  here  ?  " 

Virginia  gave  a  startled  glance  upward  at  the  stuffed 
eagle  who  presided  with  spread  wings  over  the  door,  but 
before  she  could  reply,  an  eager  voice  said,  "  Marjorie  ! — 
my  child  !  " 

Marjorie  did  not  see  that  the  several  strange  figures  in 
the  room  moved  aside  to  let  her  pass  —  she  stood  chained 
to  the  spot  as  General  Olive  came  down  the  room.  Was 
that  her  father  ?  that  tall,  grand-looking  man,  with  his 
empty  coat-sleeve  pinned  across  his  broad  breast  ?  Her 
eyes  travelled  upward  until  they  rested  on  the  pale 
smiling  face,  and  met  the  gaze  of  the  loving  eyes,  and 
then,  with  one  long-drawn  sob  of  perfect  joy,  Marjorie's 
quest  was  ended  as  she  was  clasped  to  her  father's  heart. 


342  MABJORIE'S  QUEST. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
THE  RED   CROSS   KNIGHT'S  REWARD. 

TT  was  early  May  at  Craignest.  The  wild  flowers  were 
•*-  springing  up  through  the  turf,  and  the  birds  were 
singing  in  the  maple  boughs,  trilling  a  joyous  song  for 
Marjorie,  as  she  sat  in  the  window,  her  hands  folded  in 
her  lap,  and  a  quiet,  dreamy  smile  on  her  sweet  lips. 

It  had  been  such  a  happy  winter,  although  passed 
chiefly  at  Craignest,  varied  by  one  long  visit  in  Phila- 
delphia at  Mr.  Selden  Olive's.  What  did  Marjorie  care 
for  the  banks  of  snow  outside  which  sometimes  rose 
nearly  to  the  study  windows,  when  she  sat  on  her  father's 
knee  smoothing  away  the  furrows  from  his  handsome 
face  by  her  playful  talk,  or  sitting  by  the  old-fashioned 
piano  upon  which  her  grandmother  (another  Marjorie 
Clive)  had  played,  singing  to  him  in  that  plaintive  voice 
of  her's  which  he  thought  the  sweetest  he  had  ever  heard, 
save  one. 

After  the  first  excitement  of  finding  his  child  was  over, 
General  Clive  had  been  seriously  ill,  and  Marjorie  had  made 
her  uncle  Percy's  acquaintance  at  his  bedside.  Uncle 
Percy  and  she  were  great  friends  now,  and  it  was  he  who 
had  added  the  weight  of  his  persuasions  to  Marjorie's 
when  the  question  of  General  Clive's  resigning  the  army 
had  been  started.  Marjorie  felt  that  she  could  never 
bear  the  suspense  of  his  absence,  were  he  well  enough  to 
attempt  active  service  again,  and  when  she  told  him  so, 
trying  hard  to  keep  back  the  tears,  her  father  sent  for  his 
desk,  and  playfully  ordered  her  to  write  his  resignation 


THE   RED    CROSS   KNIGHT'S   REWARD.  343 

immediately,  lest  he  should  change  his  mind.  How  he 
spoiled  her  !  If  the  sweet  sound  nature  had  had  a  taint 
of  selfishness  in  it,  Marjorie  would  have  lost  her  greatest 
charm,  but  her  father's  indulgent  fondness  only  made  her 
more  lovely.  He  would  have  draped  her  in  silks  and 
velvets,  and  hung  jewels  in  her  little  pink  ears  and 
around  her  fair  throat  if  she  had  cared  for  the  display ; 
but  when,  one  day,  he  said  something  of  the  sort,  she 
only  laughed  merrily.  "  You  must  ask  Virginia  to  teach 
me  how  to  play  la  grande  dame,"  she  said.  "  Why, 
papa,  you  wouldn't  know  me  in  anything  but  my  brown 
merinoes.  And  what  do  I  want  of  jewels  up  here  at 
Craignest  ?  For  the  snow-birds  and  you,  O,  you  foolish 
papa  !  Would  I  be  any  dearer  to  you  in  a  silk  dress  — 
if  so,  let  me  have  one,  by  all  means." 

"  You  needn't  think  you  will  get  off  that  way,  miss," 
said  General  Clive,  pretending  to  frown  at  her  as  she 
nestled  down  on  his  knee,  "  for  I  sent  carte  blanche  to 
Virginia  last  night,  and  an  order  of  my  own  to  Tiffany. 
Do  you  suppose  I'm  going  to  introduce  you  in  Philadel- 
phia in  a  brown  merino  ?  No,  I'll  keep  those  for  my 
home-bird,  my  little  thrush  who  has  gladdened  my  heart 
all  winter." 

Her  heiress-ship  was  the  hardest  fact  of  all  for  Mar- 
jorie to  become  accustomed  to  ;  she  made  so  few  demands 
for  money,  and  her  wants  were  so  simple,  that  General 
Clive,  in  great  distress,  one  day  delivered  over  a  purse 
containing  a  sum  which  positively  frightened  her  from 
its  liberality,  and  informed  her  that  the  same  amount 
would  be  ready  for  her  every  month.  Her  face  of  amaze- 
ment was  so  childishly  droll,  that  her  father  burst  out 
laughing.  "  My  little  Lady  Simplicity,"  said  he,  pinch- 
ing her  cheek,  "  do  you  suppose  that  you  are  to  go 


344  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

through  the  world  in  a  poverty-stricken  condition  ? 
Have  you  forgotten  that  you  are  chatelaine  of  Craig- 
nest,  and  may  turn  me  out  of  doors  if  I  dare  disobey 
you  ?  " 

"  Papa  !  you  don't  mean  that  grandpa  "  —  Marjorie 
always  stumbled  over  that  name  —  "  grandpa  left  me 
Craignest,  and  all  that  money  beside  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  do,"  said  General  Clive,  watching  the  dis- 
mayed face,  with  secret  amusement. 

"  O  dear ! "  sighed  she,  "  what  shall  I  ever  do  with 
it?  I  know,"  her  face  brightening;  "it  ought  to  have 
been  yours,  not  mine.  I'll  ask  Judge  Gray  to  make  a 
paper  —  you  needn't  laugh,  papa  ;  I  never  had  anything 
to  give  away  before,  so  I  don't  know  the  name  of  it  —  a 
paper  giving  it  to  you.  It  is  not  fair  to  make  me  rich 
and  you  "  — 

"  Poor,"  finished  General  Clive.  "  I'm  afraid  you'll 
have  to  support  it,  my  darling.  What  do  you  suppose  I 
did  out  in  China  ?  Just  because  I  did  not  need  it  (as  I 
bitterly  thought,  in  those  days),  just  because  I  had  no 
one  to  lay  it  up  for,  wealth  poured  in  upon  me.  I 
sha'n't  need  your  fortune,  dear,  but  I'll  never  forget 
your  offer  of  it." 

So  Marjorie  was  fain  to  content  herself,  and  managed 
to  make  a  hole  in  the  contents  of  her  purse  by  playing 
Lady  Bountiful  to  all  the  poor  people  round  about,  pleas- 
ing old  Robert  and  Mrs.  Mackensie  by  making  them  her 
almoners. 

But  she  did  shine  in  Philadelphia,  to  her  proud  father's 
delight,  and  her  shy,  graceful  manners  seemed  wonder- 
fully attractive  to  very  many  people.  The  romance  of 
her  story,  and  the  gilded  charms  of  General  Clive's 
wealth,  were  sufficient  to  make  a  sensation  in  the  gay 


THE   RED   CROSS   KNIGHT'S    REWARD.  345 

world,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  partners  or  bouquets  at 
the  few  parties  which  she  attended  with  Virginia.  But 
somehow,  the  "  stay-at-home "  legion  were  not  very 
attractive  to  the  gentle  little  heiress,  and  she  used  to 
draw  a  quiet  comparison  between  some  of  the  be-whis- 
kered,  elegant  youths  around  her  and  a  certain  tall  sol- 
dier, who  was  never  handsomer  and  more  manly  than  in 
his  neat  blue  uniform  —  rather  to  the  detriment  of  the 
gallant  carpet-knights  aforesaid. 

All  through  the  winter,  every  week  or  so,  letters-  came 
to  Craignest,  addressed  to  Marjorie,  in  a  bold  hand  ;  let- 
ters, with  various  post-marks,  and  whose  regularity  made 
General  Clive  smile.  She  used  to  read  them  aloud  to 
her  father  with  such  genuine  pride  in  the  writer,  and 
such  child-like  satisfaction  because  he  did  not  "  forget 
her,''  that  the  General  was  puzzled.  But  of  late  he 
noticed  that  the  last  half  page  was  sometimes  left  un- 
read —  to  him  !  so  he  drew  his  own  conclusions  and  re- 
frained from  even  a  shadow  of  teasing. 

And  now  May  was  here,  and  there  was  a  sound  of 
rejoicing  all  over  the  land,  because  of  that  3d  of  April 
when  Weitzel's  Corps  marched  into  Richmond  singing 
how  John  Brown's  soul  went  "  marching  on ! "  Too 
soon  after  came  the  nation's  tears  for  the  Martyr  Presi- 
dent, over  whose  sad  story  Marjorie  had  wept  so  bitterly. 
Even  on  this  May  morning  there  was  a  tinge  of  sadness 
in  the  smile  with  which  she  watched  the  robins  singing 
in  the  maples,  —  a  little  pathetic  thought  of  the  house- 
hold that  was  so  sad  while  her  own  was  happy. 

u  A  whole  penny  for  your  thoughts,  little  daughter  ?  " 
said  her  father's  voice,  as  he  pulled  aside  the  curtain 
which  overhung  the  window  and  looked  at  her. 

"  They  are  not  worth  it,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  smiling. 


346  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

"  Letters  !  O,  papa,  I  didn't  know  there  had  been  another 
post  since  Robert  came  in." 

" Nor  has  there,"  said  he ;  "I  went  myself,  on  Sultan, 
and  kept  you  waiting.  Read  your  letters,  Marjorie ;  I 
have  several  of  my  own  here." 

"  A  whole  bundle,"  cried  Marjorie,  surveying  her  let- 
ters delightedly.  "  One  from  good  Miss  Debby,  —  a  fat 
one,  too  ;  this  is  Virginia's,  and  that 's  Judge  Gray's 
handwriting,  and  O  !  Regie's  letter  is  post-marked  New 
York  I"  General  Olive's  smile  was,  oddly  enough,  fol- 
lowed by  a  little  sigh  as  he  watched  the  shy  color  come 
and  go  in  the  lovely  face. 

"  Papa  !  Judge  Gray  says  he  has  written  to  ask  you 
to  bring  me  on  there  for  a  little  visit,  and  "  — 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  want  to  go  ? "  said  her 
father,  mischievously. 

"  To  see  Grandma  Livingston,  and  Meta,  and  Miss 
Brooks,"  cried  Marjorie.  "  And  you've  never  seen  them 
yet,  you  know,  papa.  And  beside  (think  what  good 
news  for  dear  Judge  Gray)  Regie  has  a  furlough,"  and 
the  bright  blood  which  had  been  tingling  in  Marjorie's 
finger-tips  rushed  into  her  downcast  face  and  remained 
there,  brilliantly. 

"  Judge  Gray  has  given  us  a  very  cordial  invitation," 
said  General  Olive,  quietly.  "  I  meant  to  take  you  there 
very  soon,  for  I  want  to  thank  all  those  good  people 
who  were  kind  to  you  when  you  were  a  forlorn  little 
child.  O,  Marjorie,"  coming  close  to  her,  and  kissing 
her  with  the  agitation  which  the  recollection  of  her  lonely 
childhood  always  caused  him,  "  can  I  ever  be  kind  and 
tender  enough  to  you  to  obliterate  those  painful  years  ?  " 

"  Papa,  if  you  say  another  word  like  that  —  what  shall 
I  do  with  you  ?  "  demanded  Marjorie.  "  As  if  this  win- 
ter were  not  enough  to  pay  me  for  everything  ?  " 


THE   RED   CROSS   KNIGHT'S   REWARD.  347 

"  Then  I  shall  write  to  Judge  Gray  and  accept  his  in- 
vitation for  next  week,"  said  General  Clive  ;  "  or  rather 
will  you,  little  girl  ?  I  don't  get  along  very  well  with  niy 
left  hand,  or  else  these  willing  fingers  make  me  lazy," 
and  he  stroked  them  playfully. 

But,  to  his  surprise,  the  answer  was  a  hesitating 
"  Yes,"  and  upon  turning  Marjorie's  face  up  to  his,  he 
saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Haven't  you  finished  crying  for  that  arm  ?  "  said  he, 
smiling  at  her,  "  I  have —  long  ago  !  " 

"  It  wasn't  that,  exactly,"  said  Marjorie,  faltering  a 
little  in  her  speech.  "  I  only  thought  — that  you  should 
always  have  the  willing  fingers  to  write  for  you,  dear 
papa." 

"  Now  Madge,"  said  he,  unconsciously  calling  her  by 
Rex's  pet  name,  as  he  partly  divined  her  thought, 
"  what  crochet  has  got  into  this  absurd  little  brain  ?  Do 
you  suppose  that  I  expect  to  keep  my  daughter  to  my- 
self all  my  life  ?  Indeed,  I'm  not  so  selfish ;  I  know 
I  shall  have  plenty  of  petitions  to  allow  somebody  or 
other  to  carry  you  off,  but  I'll  make  you  one  promise  "  — 

"  Yes,  sir,"  faltered  poor  Marjorie,  as  he  paused. 

"  Look  at  me,  you  shy  child !  There  ;  I'll  promise 
never  to  send  you  away  until  you  want  to  go :  "  and  with 
a  mischievous  laugh  General  Clive  went  back  to  his  seat. 

But  Marjorie's  cheeks  did  not  grow  cool  for  the  rest  of 
the  morning. 

Miss  Debby's  letter  was  full  of  news,  and  very  char- 
acteristic. They  were  getting  used  to  Germantown,  she 
said,  although  it  seemed  cramped  to  the  children  to  have 
only  a  small  yard  to  play  in.  Grandma  was  very  well 
and  very  cheerful. 

Dora  was  flirting  with  two  young  men  ("  silly,  both 


348  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

of  'em,"  was  honest  Aunt  Debby's  comment ;  "  but  it 
pleases  her  and  helps  fill  up  the  time,  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  ended  in  matrimony,  even  if  they  are 
Yankees !  "). 

"  But  I  miss  you,  child,  and  always  shall,"  concluded 
the  letter.  "  When  you  have  spare  time  just  let  me  hear 
how  you  are,  and  Judge  Gray,  and  the  Captain,  and  your 
good  father.  Posy  says  I  must  send  her  letter,  which 
Dora  has  written  at  her  dictation  ;  it 's  just  the  child  all 
over,  so  I  put  it  in.  May  the  Lord  bless  you  and  yours, 
"  Your  affc.  friend, 

"DEBORAH  FROST." 

Posy's  letter  was  a  curiosity,  illustrated  as  it  was  with 
an  original  drawing  done  by  the  little  maid  herself. 
Marjorie  read  it  aloud  to  her  father ;  they  had  a  hearty 
laugh  over  it :  — 

"  DEAR  Miss  DAISY  —  MARJORIE,  —  Chloe  made 
some  cakes  on  Saturday,  and  we  had  a  good  Sunday,  but 
it  rained  and  I  licked  the  bowl.  I  made  a  mess  with  my 
cakes.  A  black  and  white  pig  grunts  with  short  legs. 
I  have  a  gray  hen  with  little  chickens,  one  all  yellow, 
and  Aunt  Debby  has  a  new  refrigerator.  Sometimes  I 
have  black  nails,  they  are  so  dirty.  Susie  is  my  new 
nurse  ;  she  is  white,  but  not  so  pretty  as  Silvy.  The 
puppy  is  dead  and  we  all  feel  very  badly.  Charley  the 
horse  laid  on  him.  Puck  is  going  to  look  all  over  for  a 
white  puppy  for  me.  Blot  is  black  ;  we  do  not  like  two 
black  dogs.  Puck  sits  on  the  sofa,  and  when  he  walks 
he  cannot  turn  his  toes  out.  He  finds  it  difficult  with 
his  u  R's  "  just  the  same  as  when  you  were  here.  We 
clean  our  teeth  with  chalk  and  water  in  a  cup  with  blue 
stripes. 


THE   RED   CROSS   KNIGHT'S   REWARD.  349 

The  pig  that  grunts. 
(Here  followed  the  pig's  picture.) 

"  I  send  my  love  to  Captain  Rex  and  Judge  Gray  and 
your  new  papa,  and  you  please  come  down  here  and  bring 
your  old  Seraphina.  My  Seraphina  is  well.  I  wear  a 
red  sash,  me  dear. 

"  Your  devoted  lover, 

"  POSY. 

"  That 's  the  best  letter  in  your  bundle,  Marjorie,"  said 
General  Clive,  looking  at  the  pig's  portrait,  and  laughing 
heartily.  "  Put  me  in  mind  to  send  Miss  Posy  a  doll 
next  week,  and  add  that  your  '  new  papa '  claims  the 
privilege  of  naming  dolly." 

General  Clive  and  Marjorie  arrived  at  Judge  Gray's 
early  one  afternoon  the  following  week.  It  had  been  a 
strange  journey  to  Marjorie :  she  could  not  help  contrast- 
ing it  with  the  time  when  Mr.  Stevens  had  brought  her 
over  the  same  road.  How  distinctly  she  remembered 
every  incident :  how  afraid  she  had  been  of  the  great, 
puffing  locomotive,  and  the  little  girl  in  the  pier-glass. 
She  made  her  father  laugh  by  telling  of  it.  And  when 
Judge  Gray  met  them  at  the  train  and  took  them 
straight  to  his  carriage,  somebody  with  a  kind,  rough 
face,  and  big,  brown  hands  stood  holding  the  door  open. 

"  Barney  !  my  dear  old  Barney  !  "  and  Marjorie  had 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him  before  he  could 
say  a  word. 

"  An'  it 's  herself,  the  darlint,"  cried  the  poor  fellow,  so 
taken  by  surprise  that  he  actually  sobbed.  "  Margie,  it 's 
the  same  warrum  heart  yees  has  —  to  kiss  the  loikes  av 
me !  An'  its  axin  yer  parding  I'd  be,  sir,"  touching  his 
hat  to  General  Clive,  "  for  calling  the  young  lady  by  the 


350  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

ould  name.  It  came  to  me  natural ;  O,  but  she  's  the 
picture  av  her  own  ould  self." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  you  call  me  Margie  ?  "  said  she. 
"  He  was  so  good  to  me,  papa ;  he  used  to  wash  and 
dress  me  sometimes,  when  Judy  was  cross.  O,  I'm  ever 
so  glad  to  see  you,  Barney  ;  do  shake  hands  with  papa." 

"  I  could  not  persuade  him  to  stay  at  home  and  wait 
until  you  came,"  said  Judge  Gray,  as  they  drove  off. 
"  He  said  he  would  just  go  to  the  cars,  '  and  if  Margie 
didn't  care  about  speaking  to  the  loikes  av  him,  he'd 
never  trouble  her  no  more.' ' 

"  You  knew  better  than  to  suppose  such  a  thing,"  said 
she,  half  indignantly.  "  I'm  so  glad  I  met  him  just  as  I 
did,  although  papa  did  look  rather  shocked  at  me  just  at 
first.  Dear  Barney,"  and  she  had  much  ado  to  keep 
back  the  tears,  but  the  vision  of  Miss  Rachel's  cap-strings 
on  the  well-remembered  steps  changed  her  thoughts  just 
in  time,  and  she  ran  up  and  kissed  that  lady  affection- 
ately. 

Marjorie  was  longing  to  know  where  Rex  was,  but  some 
unaccountable  feeling  tied  her  tongue,  and  therefore  it 
was  an  immense  relief  to  hear  Miss  Rachel  tell  her 
brother  that  she  had  a  telegram  for  him  from  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"  All  right ;  he'll  be  here  by  the  next  train,"  said  the 
Judge,  running  his  eye  over  the  dispatch.  "  I  don't 
know  what  you'll  say  to  me,  Marjorie  (Rachel,  there, 
has  been  lecturing  me  all  the  morning),  but  the  fact  is 
I've  invited  some  people  here  to  night." 

"  I  think  I  can  support  it,"  said  Marjorie,  gayly.  "  A 
party  ?  think  of  that,  papa." 

"  No ;  only  all  the  family,  and  your  friends  here ;  I 
could  not  avoid  it,  Marjorie.  There  was  every  prospect 


THE  RED   CROSS  KNIGHT'S   REWARD.  351 

that  the  house  would  be  besieged  with  an  army  of  callers. 
So  I  thought  the  best  plan  was  to  let  them  all  come  at 
once  and  have  a  good  look  at  you.  And,  after  supper, 
will  it  please  your  small  ladyship  to  dress  ?  " 

"  If  you  won't  require  a  ball  dress  —  yes !  " 

"  If  you'll  believe  it,  Judge,"  said  General  Clive,  laugh- 
ing, "  I  have  the  utmost  difficulty  in  inducing  that  child 
to  appear  in  anything  but  brown  merinoes  "  — 

"  Papa !  you  ought  to  keep  our  quarrels  to  yourself. 
Judge  Gray,  he  's  the  most  fastidious  and  notional  papa 
that  you  ever  saw." 

Miss  Rachel  smiled ;  Marjorie,  with  this  strange,  lovely 
color  flickering  in  her  cheeks,  her  quiet  eyes  dancing  with 
fun,  was  a  new  revelation. 

By  and  by  Miss  Rachel  took  Marjorie  up-stairs ;  not 
to  her  own  old  room,  but  into  the  front  chamber,  which 
made  the  girl  feel  very  old,  and  guest-like  ;  and  there 
stood  Jane  courtesying  and  smiling,  very  much  pleased  to 
see  her  again. 

It  was  a  perfect  wonder  how  Marjorie  ever  got  dressed 
that  evening.  If  the  white  dress,  with  its  pale-green 
trimmings,  which  made  her  look  fresh  and  fair  as  a  sea- 
nymph,  was  put  on  gracefully ;  if  the  provoking  golden 
hair  escaped  from  its  braids  and  curled  up  in  little  rings 
about  her  forehead  in  its  most  bewitching  fashion ;  if 
the  strings  of  pearls  for  her  neck  and  arms  were  for- 
gotten until  the  last  moment,  when  she  had  to  dive  down 
to  the  very  bottom  of  her  trunk  to  find  them,  —  if  these 
details  were  gone  through  with  mechanical  precision  and 
finish,  Jane  must  be  thanked,  not  Marjorie.  Her  head 
was  in  a  whirl,  and  she  scolded  herself  for  her  silli- 
ness as  she  went  down-stairs,  resolving  to  grow  cool  and 
composed  in  the  library  before  submitting  herself  to  her 


352  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

father's  critical  eye.  But  her  agitation,  whatever  caused 
it,  died  away  utterly  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  Rex,  leaning 
against  the  mantel,  pulling  on  his  white  gloves,  and  it 
was  a  very  child's  face  that  smiled  up  at  him  quietly,  as 
he  turned  and  saw  her  on  the  threshold. 

"  Marjorie  !  "  Rex  had  thought  over  all  he  would  say, 
the  arguments  he  would  use,  and  the  humble  request  he 
would  make,  all  in  excellent  and  fluent  English ;  but  the 
instant  he  saw  the  little  vision  in  white  his  fine  speech 
flew  out  of  his  head,  and  he  made  two  quick  steps  toward 
her,  and  looking  straight  down  into  her  liquid  gray  eyes, 
said,  -'  Is  this  my  little  wife  ?  " 

The  golden  head  went  down  until  it  rested  on  the 
broad  shoulder,  and  two  soft  arms  met  around  some- 
body's neck,  while  the  shyest  voice  imaginable  whispered 
so  softly  that  he  had  to  bend  his  tall  head  to  catch  the 
murmur,  — 

"  Yes,  Regie ! " 

That  was  all,  for  Judge  Gray's  voice  sounded  in  the 
hall,  and  Marjorie,  pink  and  fluttering,  disappeared 
through  the  drawing-room  door. 

"  Where  's  yellow-locks  ?  "  said  he,  mischievously. 

"  In  the  drawing-room,"  said  Rex,  returning  the  look 
with  one  equally  mischievous. 

"  I  thought  she'd  find  you,"  said  Judge  Gray,  breaking 
into  a  merry  laugh.  "  And,  pray,  what  were  you  saying 
to  her?" 

"  Thanking  her  for  her  midnight  ride,"  said  Rex, 
saucily.  "  I  never  had  a  chance  to  do  so  before  —  prop- 
erly ! " 

"  Indeed  ?  And  what  did  she  say  to  such  culpable 
neglect  on  your  part  ?  "  demanded  his  father,  who  had 
been  having  a  private  tete-d-tete  with  General  Clive, 
upon  matters  of  state. 


HER   EYES   FEU,  UPON   REX.' 


THE   RED   CROSS   KNIGHT'S    REWARD.  353 

"  Just  ask  her,"  cried  Rex,  flinging  his  arms  around 
his  father's  neck,  and  giving  him  a  regular  bear's  hug. 
"  I'm  the  happiest  and  the  luckiest  fellow  in  the  United 
States,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  General  Olive  so  —  there  's 
Aunt  Helen,  and  Lily." 

With  which  discovery  Rex  was  obliged  to  put  his 
raptures  in  his  pocket,  and  go  and  make  himself  agree- 
able to  his  relatives. 

They  were  all  there  —  all  our  old  friends  ;  and  as  Mar- 
jorie  stood  beside  her  father  and  welcomed  them,  the 
inconvenient  tears  were  very  near  her  eyes.  But  Judge 
Gray  kept  at  her  side,  saying  all  manner  of  merry,  quiz- 
zical things,  and  Rex,  in  his  quiet  way,  warded  off  all 
meaning  looks  and  allusions,  so  her  trembling  was  qui- 
eted, and  after  the  first  half  hour  she  was  able  to  enjoy 
it  all. 

Grandma  and  Grandpa  Livingston  were  there ;  how 
grandma  kissed  her  old  favorite,  and  how  pleased  she  was 
when  Rex  came  behind  her  chair,  by  and  by,  and  whis- 
pered a  piece  of  news  which  made  her  dear  old  face  beam 
with  delight.  There  were  Mrs.  Marston  and  Lily,  both 
unchanged,  but  very  smiling  and  gracious,  the  former 
lady  overwhelming  General  Clive  with  compliments  upon 
his  daughter's  "  grace  and  beauty ;  "  there  were  all  the 
Maxwells  ;  Clara,  with  her  husband,  and  Percy,  a  colonel 
of  artillery ;  kind  Miss  Brooks,  with  her  portly  figure 
and  smiling  face ;  Mrs.  Edmund  Livingston,  pale,  deli- 
cate, and  lovely  as  ever,  with  Meta,  our  old  sunny  Meta, 
at  her  side,  who  flung  her  arms  around  Marjorie's  neck 
and  kissed  her  so  many  times  that  Rex  declared  he  was 
jealous.  And  behind  all  these  came  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyl- 
der.  How  glad  Marjorie  was  to  see  them ;  how  affec- 
tionately she  kissed  the  kind-hearted  man  who  had  loved 

23 


364  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

her  so  well,  and,  as  she  asked  for  Horace,  she  again 
resolved  never  to  tell  his  father  of  his  cruelty  to  her. 
Judge  Gray  had  already  done  so,  but  Marjorie  did  not 
know  it. 

They  had  a  most  merry  evening,  and  just  at  the  last, 
as  Rex  had  contrived  to  seat  General  Clive  in  a  corner 
where  he  made  a  modest  request  for  his  little  daughter's 
hand,  who  should  arrive  but  Mr.  Stevens. 

"  I  got  home  late  from  court,  my  dear  Judge,"  said 
he,  "  and  found  your  note  on  my  table,  so  I  had  barely 
time  to  dress  and  catch  the  last  train  up.  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  it  for  the  world.  Miss  Marjorie!  —  you 
never  can  be  the  pale-faced  child  who  jumped  at  the 
sight  of  a  locomotive?" 

"  The  very  same,"  said  Marjorie,  putting  her  hand 
in  his,  "  and  the  happiest  little  Marjorie  you  can  possibly 
imagine,  sir.  Where  is  papa  —  O,"  —  with  a  brilliant 
accession  of  tell-tale  color,  as  she  saw  General  Clive 
making  his  way  toward  her  on  Rex's  arm ;  "  this  is  Mr. 
Stevens,  the  gentleman  who  brought  me  here." 

"  Marjorie,"  said  a  mischievous  whisper  at  her  elbow, 
as  Judge  Gray  took  possession  of  her.  "  I  was  always 
under  the  impression  that  I  found  a  stranger's  child  that 
day  in  the  stage-coach:  it  seems  now  that  I  only  ran 
across  one  of  my  own  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  catching  his  merry  tone.  "  I  wonder 
if  any  girl  ever  had  two  such  fathers  ?  "  Then,  in  a 
touchingly  humble  voice,  "  I'm  not  half  good  enough  for 
him  —  Regie,  I  mean  —  but  —  but  —  he  always  was  the 
dearest,  and  bravest,  and  best  "  — 

"  Hear,  hear !  "  cried  a  laughing  voice  from  the  other 
side  of  the  room.  "  We're  going  to  have  some  toasts 
and  speeches,  now.  Father,  you  come  first;  then  Mr. 
Stevens  says  he'll  give  us  one." 


THE   EED    CKOSS   KNIGHT'S   REWARD.  355 

There  was  no  resisting  Rex's  coaxing  face,  and  Judge 
Gray  took  liis  wine-glass  in  his  hand,  and  said,  as  a  sud- 
den hush  fell  on  all  the  company  :  — 


"  '  'Tis  quite  unusual  at  my  age 
To  speak  in  public  on  the  stage ; ' 


but  if  you  will  have  a  toast,  Rex,  I'll  give  you  one. 
This,  then,  to  the  brave  young  girl  who  rode  twenty 
miles  through  a  Southern  forest,  at  night,  into  the  rebel 
camp,  to  save  the  life  of  a  Union  officer  who  was  sus- 
pected of  being  a  notorious  spy.  She  has  never  yet  been 
thanked  as  a  father's  heart  would  thank  her  —  God 
bless  Marjorie  Clive  !  " 

The  story  had  been  well-kept,  but  as  the  clan  of 
amazed  relatives  trooped  toward  the  surprised  girl,  Mr. 
Stevens  whispered  laughingly  in  her  ear,  "  Never  mind, 
my  dear ;  I'll  make  it  even  with  him  for  that,"  and  he 
marched  out  into  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"  Miss  Marjorie  has  not  commissioned  me  to  make  a 
speech  for  her,"  said  he,  "  but  I  want  to  say  a  few  words 
on  my  own  responsibility.  You  all  know  the  story 
which  has  brought  us  together  to-night,  and  further 
comment  upon  it  is  unnecessary.  I  was  a  passenger  in 
the  stage-coach  on  that  December  morning  when  our 
host  found  a  cold,  shivering  little  child,  and  I  was  wit- 
ness to  his  tender  care  of  the  little  waif  and  stray.  Out 
of  the  simple  kindness,  the  pure  nobility  of  heart  which 
prompted  him  to  care  for  the  poor  orphan,  great  events 
have  come ;  he  has  himself  told  you  that  he  owes  the 
safety  of  his  only  son  to  that  child's  bravery  and  courage. 
I  hope  that  when  all  our  deeds  are  proclaimed  upon  the 
house-tops  we  may  find  one  among  them  which  will  bear 
worthy  comparison  with  this  act  of  unobtrusive  beuevo- 


356  MARJORIE'S  QUEST. 

lence,  and  I  am  sure  that  every  one  of  you  will  join  me 
in  drinking  the  health  of  '  His  Honor,  Judge  Gray ' !  " 

"  Too  bad,  Stevens ! "  murmured  Judge  Gray,  as  a 
genuine  round  of  applause  followed  this  speech,  and 
General  Olive  shook  him  heartily  by  the  hand. 

"  Look  there,"  said  the  soldier,  huskily,  pointing  to 
where  Marjorie  stood,  on  Rex's  arm,  as  handsome  a  pair 
of  lovers  as  ever  gladdened  a  father's  sight :  "  there, 
Judge,  is  the  result  of  that  morning's  work  —  and  your 
best  reward ! " 

And  as  Judge  Gray's  eyes  followed  the  gesture,  the 
beautiful  old  promise  came  back  to  him,  in  the  same 
words  which  the  Hebrew  prophet  had  uttered  long  ago 
among  the  purple  hills  of  Judea,  — 

"  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  ihou  shall  find  it,  AFTER 

MANY  DAYS  1 " 


THE  END. 


